i always romanticize
those past moments of
what i believe was
untainted happiness
because i am stuck in
the discontent of the
present moment, but
i'm always discontent
in the present moment
because i romanticize
those past moments
of what i believe was
untainted happiness.
i try to take life by the
throat but i don't have
the energy, and i don't
have the energy because i
have been trying to
take life by the throat.

i'm stuck in a cycle.
i am a fallen creature
and no amount of
effort or escape will
ever change the fact
of my dissatisfaction

but maybe i need
to give up and
accept that i am
dissatisfied, then
and maybe then
will i become
satisfied.

I once met a captain, three yards from the sea
In a tavern where only true sailors should be
This captain questioned if I was a We
"No," I replied, "I am both lonely and free."
He, too, could relate to a life in this way
His comfort came from the boat's gentle sway
And time held nothing but day after day
Yet my smile, he said, kept his ship at bay.
The captain, filled with both warmth and fear
Watched our faces in the tavern's mirror
Sadly, and tenderly, he declared it was clear
I was the shipwreck into which he would steer.

what was real at the start
doesn't matter any more;
in the end, we're all
imaginary

it's not that
i still love you,
it's just that
i don't yet know
how to be
around you without
reaching out
for your
hand

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.

the steady rise and
fall of your breath like the moon's
interstellar path

rejection is me
growing on me
like moss on a traveling stone
only getting kicked by those who bother
every kick is another mile or two
but where am I going
there's no purpose
I am stuck as a stone
with collecting moss
although I am moving
there's no destination
continuous kicks are continuous let downs
I am made to be kicked
for I am just a stone
collecting moss that is an undying hope
for someone to pick me up

is it satisfaction?
is it ethereal?
is it worth it?
is it lasting?
is it filling?
is it love?
is it her?
is it?

how can i be sure?
how can i know?
how can i?

am i always dissatisfied?
am i alway despaired?
am i always fallen?
am i always?

we all have the same disease.
we all have the same death.
we all have the same holes.
we all have the same.

is love its provider?
is love its vaccine?
is love its?

time will tell,
just need a little faith.

we are all plagued by the same
haunting disease.
every step on this wearied road
is just a step in our prison.
esoteric dreams of unchanging bliss
are humanity's liturgy.
the only steadfast thing in
this oxymoronic world is
dissatisfaction.
we are foundering in it,
wishing to drown already.
the romantics looked
to love,
now we look
to apathy;
but this prison
has no escape,
except death.
so we fell in
love
with the grim,
when fantasy
failed us.
now we sit here,
entranced with the mud but
dreaming of beaches.
meaningless,
meaningless,
meaningless.
we are the living dead.

the suddleness of a starry night
your eyes sparkle with the ray of light
the loneliness you feel inside
cannot be silenced or hide

I breath your air so very pure
but the deep visions are obscure
the touch of your hand on mine
as we slowly pass into time

we are brought down to earth
with a sensuous feel not a hurt
we pause and kiss as the moon passes by
and you rest your head on a pillow to lie