a pity it is to watch the one you love
speak about her skin
to watch him play with her hair
hearing him speak about her lips
knowing she didn’t treasure him like gold
praying for her to release him, for him to be free

delicate as lace is his skin
his star sign is reflected by his hair
sweet as sugar are the words on his lips
he is more precious than gold
i know he prays for his spirit to be nothing but free
for him i am filled with nothing but love

that morning i played with his hair
and as he spoke i watched his lips
he sang to me with his voice of gold
that night with him i felt so free
i thought between us there was love
because that morning he traced my skin

and i thought he was watching my lips
i thought he was showing me the parts of him soft as gold
i was foolish to think loving him was free
his eyes seemed to reflect love
i thought i had him because of his blushing skin
or how he sighed when he smelled my hair

maybe he doesn’t see my heart of gold
maybe with me he doesn’t feel free
maybe he simply just isn’t in love
maybe it’s because i don’t have the softest skin
maybe the last time we connected was when i touched his hair
i’m sure he can never see himself kissing my lips

but with i’m i’ll always be free
something that will never fade is my love
i’ll never stop thinking about his skin
my favourite thing will always be his red hair
i’ll never stop thinking about that promise that came from his lips
i’ll always treasure him like gold

his lips, skin, hair
i’ll always remember like gold
but but my love for him will never be free.

Every time she’s awoken, she kisses the sky
And dances to the pattern of the wind.
Somehow that robin reminded me I could fly,
Through her song to which I listened.
That song of hers I dream about, veiled in hope,
Is one the Romantics would die to hear.
Unattainable muse, her flight is how I would cope
Robyn, an angel, remember you can fly, my dear.

my soul isn’t my soul /

it is a work of art /

existing for criticism /

comparison /

you noticed and took advantage of that /

compared me to her /

you found all the reasons why /

she’s always been better than me /

a museum of our bodies /

she’s the main display /

a sculpture of a bee /

i’m behind a rusting gold frame /

a portrait of myself in all i am /

my soul isn’t my soul /

my body isn’t my body /

it’s all a work of art /

for you to ignore /

for a f*cking sculpture of a bee. /

dried tears on the face of an angel

to the touch, cold as a statue

soul is free, no longer dark or mangled

angel of stone in a graveyard, although stationary, i cannot catch you


stone wrists cannot bleed

but your wings cannot break

i pray for your blessing i need

or else my lover now must be fake


though dark october took you from this world

the rebirth of april cannot bring you to return

you turned to stone with your fingers curled

you cannot fly away, but you never learn


my statue of an angel in a cemetery

stuck frozen still forever and a day

the devils muse, away he will try to carry

an angel of stone in a cemetery you will always stay

a field of a million, i chose one

i held the daisy in my hand

so delicate and tempting under the copper sun

your beauty i wished to understand

of your petals, you allowed me to touch none

simple and classic, yet something grand

before our love began, you decided it was done

now the field of daisies is my forbidden land