I get bad days,
when knives seem soft,
and roses dissapear.

Take me to your garden,
tell me all your troubles,
because they're all nice and simple,
they make me forget mine.

Take me to your garden,
Cut me with your thorns,
So I can see some colour,
and forget the emptiness I feel.

Take me to your garden,
let me die there,
because I'd rather fade away,
than face the outside world.

.
Mighty palette
in the sky.
Feast of pastel colours
of sundown.

Nestbound birds
sang up a cry.
Alone I sat,
grass-crested mound.

Inhale a breath,
exhale a sigh...
Pocket of bliss,
peace on earthly ground.


.

if i could measure myself by your terms,
i would become that feeble pile of gray dust
you sweep under your rug,
or blow off of the dashboard of your shiny blue car.
i could be that lonely scuff mark on your shiny white shoes,
new and barely broken in.
new and barely broken in, like that heart
perfectly beating in your perfectly toned chest.
when did it become so easy
to trim my value into useless puzzle pieces
trying tirelessly but aimlessly
to fit into those tiny awkward spaces we create.
i spent the last few years of my life,
attempting to escape comfort, fearful
of it's promise--like loathing the end of the night,
i have run fast into the moonlight,
hid beneath my covers, shaking, screaming
JUST ONE MORE HOUR.
it can not be over.
you can not be leaving me now,
can you?
while i am swelling up with tears,
and need to be felt, so deeply now
beneath your skin? i pick and scratch
at your freckles, but you are cute and made
of wrought-iron dimpled blonde steel,
and i, too weak, too worthless,
too useless, to bend you into
pretty loving shapes.

how can i fear the end now, that is it finally
seemingly eternally here. where do we go
now? how can i rest, abandoned, leaking
words, dripping
thoughts into a bucket that,
at any moment
can
spill.
this is goodbye.

The age demanded that we sing
And cut away our tongue.

The age demanded that we flow
And hammered in the ****.

The age demanded that we dance
And jammed us into iron pants.

And in the end the age was handed
The sort of **** that it demanded.

we
sailed away
to
the
island of Crete
where
night whispered
her deceit
and
there
we
wait for
the wheels of
night to
turn on
the
lamp of truth

You fell to the bottom of the sea,
You expected me to save you.
I told you I couldn’t.
Sometimes you do everything for someone and it's still not enough.
I didn't want to drown trying to save you because I knew,
That we would have both ended up dead.
At the bottom of the sea.