She’s a pistol and I’m so whipped.
She’s a cure and I’m so very sick.
It’s amazing the things she thought of;
to bring a glove, if push came to shove.
I fell inlove but first I tripped.
and usually I spring back up so quick.

She said “take one more for the road.”
What does it matter if I’m not taking you home?
I only want to unburden your load,
I thought that was already known,
lost in translation like playing games of telephone.

Knock me down like Dominos,
to keep me close and blame it on when the wind blows.
Knock me down like Dominos
to keep me close and also keep me on my toes.

I’m being fully placated, for my obsessive obsession
ignoring what was plainly stated in my last confession.
Please don’t let me be hated for my sporadic depression,
because I know that it’s fated for me to leave
an impression.

She said “take one more for the road.”
What does it matter if I’m not taking you home?
I only want to unburden your load,
and make you feel high, and sigh and moan
but lost in translation like my girl Scarjo.

Knock me down like Dominos,
to keep me close and away from your foes.
Knock me down like Dominos,
to keep me close and make sure I don’t go.
Knock me down like Dominos,
to keep me close and also keep me on my toes.

When I feel trapped on the land,
I’m looking for anyone to lend a hand.
They’re just too scared of me,
knowing that I belong back in the sea.
I struggle, thrash and flop with all my might;
a shark on land doesn’t feel quite right,
and I can’t win this fight.

I’ve got no qualms with man,
but trapped on shore was not my plan.
Whatever will be will be,
but can’t someone roll me back into the sea?

They’ve seen great whites and nurse,
but whatever class I am I’ve got it worse.
I walk but they know I’d rather swim,
I happened upon shore on just a whim.
Drying out from my nose to tail,
can’t they see I’m not threat, I’ve gotten frail?
They’re so scared they’re turning pale.

I’ve got no qualms with man,
just wish one would stop me from getting a tan.
If I could speak I would plea,
“can’t someone roll me back into the sea?”

Barely moving, but still giving it my best,
I count the phones documenting my distress.
They look on caught almost in a trance,
mistaking my movement for some type of dance.
But they’re just too scared of me,
even though I’m struggling to breathe,
hear how I huff and heave?

I’ve got no qualms with man,
no issue with their ways or lifespan.
I wish they felt the same for me,
so can’t someone roll me back into the sea?

Run rabbit run,
don’t dare say your legs are tired.
It’ll be done when it’s done
and I’ll fix to bet you’ll be wired.
Hitting a second wind,
when you didn’t even hit one.
You don’t want to be pinned
so run rabbit, run.

Run rabbit run,
the traps are set, the hounds are loose.
You can hear them as they come,
they’re tired of chasing the wild goose.
Watch out for holes and snares;
see the hunt’s already begun.
They don’t want a tortoise, they’re out for hares,
so run rabbit, run.

Run rabbit run,
they want to eat you and your population.
Bow and arrow, and bullet to gun,
control is not annihilation.
On the move in the night
and no break when comes the sun.
But don’t you give up the fight,
run rabbit run.

You’re afraid and tired,
and I’m frayed and wired.
Both strayed with ire,
both played with fire.
Different types of bait
but they tempt us all the same,
and it might not be too late
for one of us to win this game.
We can outsmart who we play,
and the challenge can be fun.
Break the rules and make it our way,
and run rabbit run.

If silence could echo, it would’ve been you;
never much one to talk.
I’d be the last one for you to go to
but I would’ve listened as we sat or took a walk.
You pose as granite,
another lonely planet

Orbiting all that glows, but ****** in a void.
So sure that nobody knows, but slipping out your signs like Freud.
Circling the world as a satellite, but you don’t want to man it.
No one should ever lose their sight,
it’s so easy to lose a lonely planet.

I’ve been thinking of what you’d know
and the places you wanted to go
and all of the life that you’d grow,
we already lost Pluto.
It’s not like we planned it,
another lonely planet.

Spinning out of control, praying for gravity,
you discovered a black hole no one else could see.
With edges that reach such height,
and no one to sand it.
No one should ever lose their sight,
it’s so easy to lose a lonely planet.

No returning, fuel burning, I think we’ve lost a piston.
You’re missing seasons, you’ve got your reasons so please list them;
why you want to leave our solar system.
Maybe you’re pushed but there’s still a pull
you may lack the will to be sustainable.
I wish your oxygen levels would stay at full.
You don’t need to live in a lull.

Orbiting all that glows, but ****** in a void.
You were right; nobody knows, why you chose to stay forever a boy.
Circling the world as a satellite, but you don’t want to man it.
I can’t blame you for losing the fight
but we blame ourselves for losing a lonely planet.

You hate my printed tees and high top shoes,
you disapprove that I still wear my toque in June.
Always saying that I ruin the plot too soon.
You don’t know your worth, you are my Earth
my sun and my moon.

It’s how you get my smile to touch my cheek,
and the way you get my knees feeling weak.
The ten things that you hate about me,
are outnumbered by the things you’re loving.

You hate my shark shorts even though they’re cozy,
you can look past it because you’re the only one who truly knows me.
I’m tripping on words, the ones you prefer
because you know I’m clumsy.
You say I’m too loud, or my head in a cloud,
but the way that I feel I’m always showing.

It’s the way that you look me right in my eyes,
and how you still manage to give me butterflies.
The ten things that you hate about me,
are outshined by the things you’re seeing.

You hate when my hair gets too long,
and when my cologne smells too strong.
You hate when I exaggerate during fights
and when I snore during late nights.

Just the way that our fingers interlace,
and how you get that look on your face.
The ten things that you hate about me,
are just quirks, you’re making it work,
as you still get to know me.

I’m driving on my way home
from a job that doesn’t make ends meet.
Pawned all my gold, silver and chrome
and placed my hat and sign on the street.

I’m living in a creative hell
One that serves me but doesn’t serve well.
Into my flesh I would carve,
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you didn’t starve.”

At each red, I clutch at my steering wheel
and scratch my lottery tickets.
Manifest a positivity I don’t feel,
when it scans I hear only crickets.

I’m living in a creative hell,
one that traps and encases me as a shell.
Preventing me from air, society and heat
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you could eat.”

I have no certifications and no degrees,
my only trade and skill are the words that I write;
the gift that both comforts and tortures me,
it’s too bad that no one pays for plight.

I’m living in a creative hell,
voicing it quietly while ringing a bell.
Begging for help but don’t want to be rude
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you had food.”

I’m living in a creative hell
One that serves me but doesn’t serve well.
Into my flesh I would carve,
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you didn’t starve.”

I’ve got a small house made of cobblestone,
and I have a mountain made of chairs.
I’m safely inside; withering to the bone,
and hanging onto my last remaining hairs.
I know what awaits outside my window
and I won’t open the door for anyone.
It’s not like I have any special place to go,
and I don’t care much for the beating sun.

The lights are all off, but I risk a candle
in truth it’s as much light as I can handle.
It’s solely so that I prepare for the battle
against the first foe; the lurking shadow
we all know.

But when a voice rings out
begging and pleading for my help,
asking me to simply let them inside.
I’m more worried about myself,
and preserving what’s left of my health.
I can’t prevent it, I run and hide,
I refuse to go outside.
Savor what’s left of my last breath,
today I won’t be tricked by death.

I let the stranger into my abode anyway
I guess I let my compassion get the best of me.
Emphasizing he had only minimal time to stay
he reassured he wasn’t tricking or testing me.
“Don’t you miss the trees and sun in a park,
why do you live like this way?” is what he said,
I replied “I’d rather be nothing in the dark,
instead of being dead.”
I won’t fade into my made bed.

But he’s the one that is bleeding,
medical attention he’s needing.
But I won’t let anyone into my fortresss of solitude.
Tells me he’s not trying to scare me
but letting him in was already daring,
I just can’t stand to be so cruel, uncaring or rude.
I refuse to be subdued.

He may not make it out alive
but maybe neither will I.
He shows his true colors and they thrive
as he shows me how to die.
The hand knocked and made it’s mark
but it wasn’t a delusion in my head.
While I’d rather be nothing in the dark
instead of being dead.