you asked why i'm still around
when your so obviously broken
most men would be sprinting
after seeing you so un-made up

truth is they were weak
where they saw damage
I saw strength
cant recognize it if you lack it

I knew the real you the day we met
felt your edges and never looked back
we don't have to fix each other
we fit together

in the end I love you because i know
that anyone who smiles so brightly
can only have lived in the darkness
and that's beautiful

Help me, help me...
Who am I talking to?
I need help can't you see
What do I expect someone to do?

The hunters are camouflaged
Lonely as a mallard
I could try fly
Hoping to avoid their eye
Or I could just walk
Then maybe they won't talk

Talk about me
And what they think they know
This mallard can't fly
The pity of its lifeless body
Would, in its grave, make it roll
It would be brave to fly
And Avoid the barrage of bullets
But how could it try
When that could be it's life

Although The mallard is not afraid to die
He can't bare the thought of the pity
For to fly and die
Is many a mallards life
But to fly,
die
and feel the pity from a watchers eye
As it lies there
Incapable of showing it's ability to fight
Is a death of its soul
Not just it's life

clouds of lilac blossom
thick in the blue air.

day unwraps in slow
whispers and the wind
is more lonely than am i.

the sky is a broken
vase, little
pathways of the sun,
her strange loads,
her happy voice.

the lilacs were our love song
may swept into our hair and eyes
little pieces of me scattering
like breaking waves.

dipped in the magical ink
of flowers
the garden cries
for its wilderness
its withering of sky
its blossoming of twig
until you can’t see the sky
and it becomes softly an impression,
a fine mist of golds.

no song now,
only the death of the
wind and a new road
that winds from the silver distances
of the moon.

only a harbour where i
rest for a while, a little
boat bobbing where the waves lap,
waiting for you...

My soul aches at the thought that
I may never
be looked at like I am beautiful

My ears ring at the notion that
I may never
be touched by reassuring warmth

My head throbs at the concept that
I most likely
will never get to share my secrets and dreams

My body shivers at the knowledge
of knowing that
I will never be kissed purely and deeply

My eyes swell with the tears that are aware
of the inevitability that
I am utterly invisible

I am exhausted from meaning nothing to everyone

I could blame my fear on the fact that my heart
is made of glass, and that my skin feels so
constricting I forget how to move forwards
so now I only fall back. I cry when I should be laughing
and I'm not spiritual but sometimes I think
it might help me swallow
when all I can do is choke on things I didn't say, should've said,
might say
in public, in whispers between tangled
sheets, in emotion. I am carving a hole in my heart
and sealing it with special things, like the words dream and promise
and tomorrow and alright, so that if I shed my skin too many times
a part of me will still survive. When I can't sleep
at night it's because I know even stars die, and when
I sleep too much it's because I don't know how to live.
And in spite of the mirages that sunsets cast on
highways leading to
new leafs
there's chaos in my head that breathing deeply won't solve.

I was taught in science that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed, and is simply manipulated into different forms and transferred to other objets.
In Psychology I was taught about the pre-frontal cortex, and how it houses the emotions of the human soul, and about the hippocampus which carefully extracting these emotions into long term memory so they can live forever. I wasn’t taught how these emotions were conserved.

I started wondering to myself, where the **** do the emotions one puts into another go?  
Can emotions be created or destroyed inside the pre-frontal cortex?
Or are they simply transferred from mine to yours, which allows you to put effort into someone else, leaving my emotional remnants to manipulate themselves into pain?

Am I able to transfer my feelings into your PFC so they can spark a reaction with whats inside and manipulate them into something different?
Maybe thats how mutual feelings come about.
But would it not work if your necessary reactants have already been transferred elsewhere? I assume my emotions would react with your painful remnants to leave you neutral again, giving you the choice to forget him or feed him a bit more.

Then how the **** do the feelings of one change as time goes on?
I assume that infatuation never completes its journey to the hippocampus and simply passes through the PFC.
But how do emotions get manipulated into something negative after the rare chance that they complete the savage journey to the long term chamber?
The intermolecular forces of the bond created between us possibly gets overcome by something more powerful.
Something that has been freshly transferred into the PFC of one of the emotional bond carriers; like fear, or the emotional energy of someone new, and she’ll tell him “it wasn’t meant to be”
Which explains how you can move on whilst I can’t as my bond is also broken, but without consent, my their emotions to go haywire and destroy my psyche as they’re not bonded to anything.
I’m “broken”.

Although the intermolecular forces of the emotions inside your PFC have been overcome and manipulated into something new, the old emotional bonds still exist in her hippocampus, as well as his.
Emotions will constantly haunt me from there, creating constant relapse as the painful memories are resurrected and transferred back into his PFC.
They’ll haunt you too, possibly reacting with your current state to create regret.
Either regret of breaking the bonds or forming them in the first place.
I’ll reach a neutral state again, and you will have your turn to be broken when emotions from someone else are transferred respectively.
But we’ll never forget each other.

So i guess love never dies. Only active love. As the emotions in the hippocampus are set in stone whilst that in the PFC are transferred and manipulated, just like matter, and energy.

After all, we are just matter, with energy.

I hope that in 20 years you'll be painting on a canvas under the night sky whilst admiring a blood full moon and be reminded of me and ask yourself if I still smoke Marlboro red and love guitar solos more than silence and then googling my band to see if we actually got somewhere.

I hope that 20 years from now you'll be painting on a canvas under the night sky whilst admiring a super moon after we finally calmed our son's nerves down about his first day of school in the morning and tucked him in and let out a sigh of relief when I kiss your neck from behind and carefully place a cup of coffee in your hand.