I’ve had a rough night.
I’ve had a rough decade.
To clear my head I decided to go for a drive,
the cold autumn air, the dark sky, the vacant streets and the glow of the traffic lights can sometimes heal.
Not tonight.
The cold air chilled me to the bone,
the dark sky is without a single star,
the vacant streets create an atmosphere of being on another world; completely desolate, utterly isolated.
The traffic lights are all red, like the anger that burns inside me.
I shouldn’t have gotten in my car tonight.
I have a single headlight, my passenger side burnt out sometime last week.
These things bother me more than they should.

I drove to my old home, where I spent twenty three years of my life.
It’s gone and I knew it would be, they started the demolition in spring shortly after I left it, during one of our coldest winters yet.
But now, a house is being constructed on the lot.
Where once stood a small, modest, cottage looking home has been turned into only a gigantic skeleton of what will be a modern house that holds no unique characteristics.
It will blend in with every other house on the street.
Notice how I say house, not home.
They built right to the hedge, Jesus, they didn’t even leave room for a yard or driveway.
Besides all that, I can only think
“my mother’s soul left her body on this land.”
The same land they’ve covered.
Her temporary bedroom when she turned palliative will probably be their living room, or maybe bathroom.
Whoever lives in this house won’t know that the most wonderful mother in this world died where their house is standing.
They won’t know it was a Christmas morning, and the last thing I ever heard from her mouth was “your arms are getting strong” after helping her to her OMS supplied hospital bed.
These things bother me more than they should.

I usually drive fast and play my music loud,
tonight I’m driving fast to get anywhere but where I am,
tonight I’m playing my music loud to drown out my sobs.
The kind of sobs that hit your body like aggressive shocks.
I hate crying, I despise sobbing.
I don’t get embarrassed, but I’m mortified by my own vulnerability even though I’m alone.
I even fake a laugh and shake my head.
Pretend it’s nothing, and that I’m an idiot, that “that’s just life” and so forth.
These things bother me more than they should.

When you lose the only home you’ve ever known,
are you destined to be transient eternally?
Is it possible to find someone who will love every part of you,
and love you enough to actually show it?
But most importantly,
does it ever stop hurting,
even for a ******* second?

I'm the raindrops to your roses
I can drown you or make you grow,
and my shower always imposes
on the direction that you want to go.
I seem to only fall on to you
praying to assist you to become what you want to be,
but I'm banished when the skies turn blue
are you hoping that I will continue raining?

There's some things no one will ever understand
like why we carry a torch so long that it goes and burns our hand,
and it seems like nothing in this world goes as planned
but raindrops and roses live together within the land.

I'm the raindrops to your roses
I only try to add to your perfection,
and when a window opens; a door closes
but take my droplets as the purest affection.
I hope to never weigh your petals down
I want to assist in making each a wing,
but I can keep pouring until we all drown
but roses are seasonal with only summer and spring.

There's some things no one will ever understand
like why we give away the things so highly in demand,
and even when ripped apart; together we still band,
'cause raindrops and roses live forever within the land.

I'm the raindrops to your roses
I only try to give you strength,
but alone you smell sweet to all the noses
but only my eyes are blind to your thorn's length.
I only come to show you your own beauty,
though I doubt you'd ever see that strong shade of red.
Whereas I'm transparent; you can see right through me
sometimes I wish I could be the sun to your roses instead.

We determined our future in a game of M.A.S.H
but the outcome we could never measure,
and you know what they say about one person’s trash
it ends up being someone else’s treasure.

My eyes are black and blue,
bruising that came from you.
With nothing right to say and nothing left to do.
I sewed my mouth closed, next time I think I’ll use glue.

Her heart strings were pulled just too tight,
they would snap and break with any given pressure.
And she could never hit the notes just right,
but one person’s disdain is another person’s pleasure.

My eyes are black and blue,
bruising that make up shows right through.
With nothing right to say and nothing left to do.
We played every board game but never stopped with clue.

I’ve never been one for odd numbers
unless it’s the number seven.
Numerology really makes me wonder
is there a mathematical equation to heaven?
My birthdate became a date of rebirth
as every year I killed a part of myself,
it’s not that I believed myself to lack worth,
it was just a challenge to see if plastic happiness could bring health.

My eyes are black and blue,
representing every shade and hue.
Like a serene painting of morning dew.
I’ll keep spinning it until it becomes true.

“He was a painter who only painted in red.”
There’s that connection between art and bloodshed.
I hang all those pictures on the walls inside my head,
‘cause they’ll never match the colour of the room with my bed.

My eyes are black and blue,
but even the swelling can’t block my view.
With nothing right to say and nothing left to do.
I’ll have to accept there’s somethings you can’t construe.

Here I am, as real as stone,
I am no dream, feel my flesh and bone.
In these words I’ll present my honesty
and tonight you’ll give me only silence.
You’re the missing puzzle piece, and the best of me,
but pushing the piece down only creates defiance.

Here I am, this is no test,
I am no ghost feel the beat from my chest.
In these words I’ll present all I want to say
but can never untie my tongue,
You’re the sun, the moon, the night and the day,
my oxygen to each empty, shrunken lung.

Listen to me, I’m terrible at declarations,
but I’m honest to a fault and love to confess.
I’ll be detailing with no abbreviations
everything you wish to know and nothing less.
The clock has stopped, maybe it’s hand is broken,
or perhaps the batteries just finally ran dry.
But it’s now time out, something’s need to be spoken
the who, when, what, how and most of all the why.

I’ll meet your eyes
and tell you only the truth,
Love, you light my morning skies
and bring me back to my youth.
My dreams are slaves to you
but sleep’s been slipping through my fingers,
just please tell me what to do
cause this devotion only lingers.

No silver medal, no second string,
I was tired of rotting on the bench.
Foot’s on the pedal, I’m in the ring,
my thirst’s begging for quench.
I’m a light weight champion with my eyes on the prize
even knocked out I’ll be back again,
are you really that surprised?

I’ll meet your eyes
and give you all you want from me,
Love, you light my morning skies
and make me who I’m meant to be.
Our skin will mesh in place
like we were made to combine,
and each inch my fingers trace
is the definition of divine;
I am yours and you are mine.

You might be my lightbringer
as you always banish the dark,
palm to palm, finger meets finger,
softness can still leave a mark.
You light my morning skies
you are the controller of the sun,
pushing me to awake and rise
and giving strength to get things done.

My mind’s checking in to checking out,
I’ve decided I don’t want to know what the ending’s about.
I’m tired of gaining wrinkles under my sunken eyes,
and I’m sick of grey hairs and done with grey skies.

The skeletons are stacked and toppling out from my closet,
the space is barely enough for the ones born in the past ten years.
They tap and they rap and even try to claw it
but I’ve soundproofed the walls and even plugged my ears.
The gasoline has been splashed on the ground,
and I’m buying matches by the pound.

I’ve got a war campaign between my heart and my head,
bleach doesn’t clean the stain from the mass of bloodshed.
I’m tired of holding my tongue and hiding a quivering lip,
and I’m ignoring all those who tell me to “just get a grip.”

The demons are pushing their way out from under my floorboards,
They’ve always cracked but now they also screech.
I search in hope for some rope but only find extensions cords,
and even then they’re fully used or slightly out of reach.
The gasoline has been splashed on the ground,
and I’m buying matches by the pound.

I guess this would be my goodbye
but absolutely nothing about it is good.
Let us not pretend to cry,
but admit I made it further than I should.
There’s a certain strength in keeping your eyes open;
a certain strength that I just lack,
skip all the words, they don’t need to be spoken
just please let me sleep in a place that’s forever pitch black.

She grabbed my neck, one hand, and her fingers quickly connected,
“You should have some more self respect, you’re taking this further than I expected.”
I swear that I’m eating again,
but I won’t try to pretend,
that the food doesn’t make me hurt, the removal of my organs didn’t mend.
I ask her to forget it and to just talk about the weather,
the topic wants to drop; she won’t let it, she knows I’m not getting any better.
I was always too much of a lost cause to trust I’d ever be repaired,
for years she’s held the gauze and just silently waited and stared.

At 21 my mother died from a long battle with cancer,
I toughed through it to provide comfort I could never allow myself to receive.
So my own sickness was inspired by Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer”
it was never my goal but what my
brain wished to achieve.

I told them all to leave me,
I didn’t expect they would do so,
a few stragglers stayed who wished to prove they were strong.
It’s still shocking that they believed me
or were they waiting for a polite out to go
one that they could argue wasn’t wrong?

And I’d rather break a mirror
than to see the reflection everyone else shared,
it’s not that I would fear her,
but through seven years bad luck I’ve already fared.
I made a choice and a deal
to give my worthless life for just a few good days,
you can’t put a price on how you feel,
you can only hope and pray that that feeling atleast stays.

I became best known through all encounters in every social gathering
as the laid back confident joker, because they never saw me shattering.
I assure you that after I was always in my Honda drowning,
arguing with myself if it was better to be fake than the person always frowning.
I was dying for interaction beyond just meaningless conversation
and only ever met the odd soul to bring that alleviation.
I was so used to the shadows from the comfort of my basement
that I flinched when I saw sunlight and only after felt amazement.

I was a skeptic and untrusting as to why the sun would ever shine on me,
and the refreshing waves that brushed my feet carried potential for drowning.
And just when I got used to light and a natural source of heat
the darkest cloud in history attacked until it did retreat.
Then I thought that drowning in the sea wouldn’t be the worst,
if it didn’t carry me into a current, perhaps it could wash away my curse.
But even the tide will move away when you decide to take that step,
past the point of clenching a fist, every muscle I own did treppe.

Los Camp said the sea was a great place to think about the future,
but I know it’s a great place to think about the one you lack.