secrets on your lips,
tremors in my hands -
we'll shake ourselves alive
and watch the earth burn

if i tore away my human skin
would you see stars beneath?

if i stitched myself back together
would you find gossamer galaxies?

it always hits trees before the ground:
sunlight, rain, snowfall, moonlight.

last night i forgot myself;
told you that sun burns but doesn't warm,
rain wipes memories and leaves amnesia,
snow muffles what rain doesn't drown,
and moonlight does what the sun couldn't:
scorches skin to ashes.

last night i forgot myself;
told you how i was meant for the stars,
not the planet beneath.

last night i forgot myself
but you offered to be the trees
if i would be your earth.

i wish i were a hero
so that i could save you
from the enemy:
myself

people compare depression to
not being able to get out of bed

for me it's always been more like
getting up and not knowing
what to do
next

i lived on prayers and bon jovi
screaming only the good die young
at the top of my four-year-old lungs

my address is on 8th road north
but i was always more at home
where the streets have no name

i still remember september 11 2001
when my father turned off his radio
i called it the day the music died
and learned to dance with myself

now i sign my love letters with
"yours", "wish you were here", and
"don't let the sun go down on me"

(i think it's gonna be a long, long time
before i forget you and the music
you made me hear)