I’d break into our old family home
if it was still standing tall.
Electrical cords and floorboards;
that I would finely comb.
Searching for traces of us; big or small.

I should’ve taken the tub,
and the dryer was brand new.
I know they ripped up each stump and stub
and the yellow roses the year they finally grew.

This is just a missing piece,
this is where I used to live.
Memorized the trees and the streets,
and the faces I would greet,
to go see it again; what I wouldn’t give.

I’d break into our old family house,
if it was still standing tall.
As I dowse, no sound or a mouse,
was it ever even there at all?

Why did they lose the shed?
Why did they cover the lot?
It looks better in my head
than the day it was finally bought.

This is just a missing past,
this is where we used to coexist,
those rare family moments that I miss.
They’re now lost to the abyss,
I don’t remember the last.

I’d go back in time but
I wouldn’t want to impose.
Truth is the door is shut,
realize that road is closed.

I’m sad I don’t live there anymore,
I grew up; have my own walls and own floor.
A woman who loves me and her I adore,
but these thoughts still wash ashore.

I thought I fell again into an old friend,
but it seems it was only a mirror.
I roll the dice, convinced I can pay the price,
on about she screams out but I can’t hear her.

Who’s worse, the one who steals the memories
or the one who just gives them away?
It seems whatever is remaining of me
is the only part I didn’t wish to stay.
I’ve got fingertips pressed to the temple,
pushing inward forcing it to shake.
I’ve won the battles of heart but not the mental;
my brain fires pebbles at the glass hoping it will break.

Take the path less walked on
make sure to leave no tracks behind.
Even if it ends up being wrong,
you won’t be able to change your mind.
There won’t be any mile markers,
no breadcrumbs and lacking footprint.
The hunting dogs coming won’t be barkers;
next time drop your fingernails or lint.

Who’s worse, the one who steals the memories
or the one who just gives them away?
Don’t mean to keep them in the treasuries
but didn’t expect to see them stray.
I’ve got fingertips pressed to the temple,
pushing inward forcing it to shake.
With each thought just more sentimental
but I’m questioning if those feelings are fake.

Put your foot down on the gas
say “shut up and drive”
and with each town we pass,
I’m surprised we made it out alive.
This may just be the last
time that I emotionally dump or strive.
No this isn’t confession, it’s not mass,
it’s a witch hunt in the shape of a bee hive.

Who’s worse, the one who steals the memories
or the one who just gives them away?
Turned centuries into accessories
then didn’t like how much they weigh.
I’ve got fingertips pressed to the temple,
pushing inward forcing it to shake.
It stopped being a problem or detrimental
when I laid the dead flowers at the wake.

I took my first wrong turn
when I took you so for granted,
I was so relieved to wake up next to you.
I’m so used to making my world burn,
or making sure that it stays slanted,
perhaps I should stop writing in red and start with blue.

You want to know what was my worst mistake,
it was watching your heart break
to prevent a fracture of my own.
I need to stop doing things only for my sake;
can’t eat and have my own cake,
each day is just a loan.

I see colours from and around you
but I always paint shades of grey,
we can argue that the pictures beautiful all the same.
Analyze shadows, shades and each hue,
we can always find a sun ray;
we’ve perfected it into our own type of game.

You want to know what was my worst regret,
was making your eyes turn wet
to keep my own dry.
I’d place all I own left on a bet
that it’s something we both won’t forget,
I wish that was a lie.

I committed my worst crime
based upon my biggest sin,
you’re so faithful; truth is I don’t deserve you.
“This won’t happen a second time,
I’d rather trade off my soul and my skin
spend the rest of my life held together with tape and glue.”

You want to know what was my worst mistake,
it was watching your heart break
to prevent a fracture of my own.
Share consequences from the choices I make,
it causes me to burn and ache
right down to the bone.

I long for sleep but it’s not a fan of me,
I never drift too deep, and it doesn’t come easily.
And though my bed is far from cold,
my restless head is searching for gold;
wish I could accept silver gracefully.

Oh tired eyes; you’ve gotten so heavy
and the sired lies is the shoe maker levy.
I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
to keep me warm and displace me.

The midnight sky threw on it’s best set of stars,
and yet here am I looking for Jupiter and Mars.
I start watching two satellites dance,
like in the past with you and I in some type of trance,
always in each others orbit but too fast, too far.

Oh tired eyes; you’ve gotten so heavy
and the sired lies is the shoe maker levy.
I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
to keep me warm and displace me.
Oh tired eyes; you’ve gotten so heavy
it’s no surprise when comes the shoemaker levy.
I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
none left to mourn, or to replace me.

The moon gave me such a passionate kiss
that turned from open handed to a closed fist.
Still I gave it my gratitude that the very least it wasn’t rude,
it always kept on shining even in the mist.

The midnight sky threw on it’s best set of stars,
left me reading between the lines and trapped between the bars.
Take oath with a cosmic creed, a praise I’d give anything to sing,
I’ll follow if you would lead me to Saturn’s ring.

Oh tired eyes; you’ve gotten so heavy
and the sired lies is the shoe maker levy.
I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
to keep me warm and displace me.
Waiting for gravity to come  hold me down
don’t be mad at me if I can’t stay around.
The perfect home the shoe maker levy found,
thank god it wasn’t on our ground or within our town.
Sometimes I travel just like sound,
but to the sky I’m bound.

I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
none left to mourn, or to replace me.

I swore I meant to get baptized
you ended up with my head under water,
just alittle too long that time
and it should be cold instead of hotter.
I fight against the rough waves
my arms reach out for you instead of splashing.
I prefer that method where I’m being saved
instead of receiving a verbal thrashing.

Rooted in ground, meant to settle down,
hiding under the rubble,
you’re not Sonic in the bubble.
While I’m bound to always maybe poke around
believe me I don’t want to cause trouble.
I’m not Sonic in the bubble.

I’ve always wanted a bigger bath tub
she craves to have a yard once more.
Everyday I trade both for a back rub
you ask “is your body even sore?”
I tell her who doesn’t feel some strain
and that her hands have always felt healing,
infact they cure almost every single pain
that I’ve had the misfortune of feeling

Hearing no sound, except the counting down
too far and deep in a puddle
you’re not Sonic in the bubble.
A trick I found is to always use a spin pound
straight from the knuckle,
I’m not Sonic in the bubble.

I only want the best chocolate
but I won’t pay for it out of pocket,
I expect a free taste to know if it’s worth my time.
Like picking doors and lockets
and sticking your fingers into sockets
it’s the type of thrill you don’t want to define.

A beauty that’s rarely seen,
only reserved for the May queen.
Dancing under her midsommarstang
when the time speeds up but it still seems so long.

We can share some codependency
we can share some trauma and blood.
If you were to leave it would be the end of me,
is this the type of story we tell of love?

Sadly there’s some poetic irony
of the horror when you witnessed the elders jumping,
still human enough but too lost to see
you were in the line; one day to be waiting.

Confuse possession with protection
mistake bare empathy for tender caring.
When’s the last time you felt needed affection
except for the wrong type others are sharing?

And at the very end of it all
you’ll have a face full of tears,
‘cause even a May Queen has to fall
within the changing of season in the years.
And you won’t even care
if it’s freedom or a new type of prison,
‘cause atleast someone will be there
to cry with, to hold you and listen.

She said “I don’t think I’m ok,
infact that much I know.”
She spends every single day
running against the winds blow.
When did she stop trying?
Did she even ever start?
Spends all of her time crying
as if to water a drought.

The tight rope is too tight,
and you walk a very thin line.
Another day and it’ll be alright,
and tomorrow you’ll be fine.

She said “I don’t want to a survivor.”
I tell her there’s worse things to be.
Keeps holding her breath like a diver,
but lack of oxygen is worrying.

We were standing right under the streetlight,
with no stars in our sight but those created with might.
With the cold’s bite making our skin burn and bright
saw the discomfort in my sight, “you got to clutch your jacket more tight.”

Now the pool is just too deep,
and your laps aren’t making time.
Another day and another promise to keep,
and tomorrow you’ll be fine.

The tight rope is too tight,
and you’re walking a very thin line.
But if you hold on with all your fight
then tomorrow you should be fine.