The tips of his wings stained a crimson red,
the light drawn from his eyes with his final breath,
a loathsome look upon his shame filled face,
forgetting all his amazing grace.

he's fallen from the tips of heaven to the depths of hell,
the angel his face stained with an auburn glaze,
captured in the battle just lost,
his nobility failing at his own great cost.

they whisper in his ear, the superficial beings,
they speak so mellow yet there words be celestial,
they scrutinise him, tempting his weaknesses,
their ****** eyes divulge his very being.

"Come my son ill give you peace" his father calls from above,
at this his tepid and tedious ways at once are banished,
he takes his fathers effluent hand and he is made clean,
saved from the superfluous for all eternity.

Too many miles
And vacant roads
Between my heart & I

Not enough stars to wish for him
In all of the night sky

There's something about the waves
That dance hand in hand, so soft and blue
That remind me of your satin eyes--
I wish i could dance with you.

And I'm not one to write sad songs
About bruised hearts or absent love
But my lips are stained by falling snow
And snow is not enough

It aches--so call it passion
Call it young and stupid--yeah
But believe me, if he was yours
You'd be just as bad

There's something about divergent winds
Sharing an endless embrace
That make me close my eyes
And fall asleep
With tear stains on my face

Cause if I could be that close to him

If we could dance as well
There'd be no need for wind or waves

Only how we felt

i wrote you a song
and i wanted it to be loud
i wanted it to be angry and piercing

and i wanted it to ring in your ears like your absence rang in mind but when i sang it

it was soft.

it was quiet and careful and i didn't mean it that way but when the words escaped my lips they fought their way into my aching fingertips (aching like the rest of me)
and it was beautiful notes that i strummed instead of dead ones.

i wrote you a song and i wanted it to be loud

i wanted it to be deafening.

because your love left me that way and it's only fair

i wrote you a song and i wanted it to be loud.

but loud things aren't as beautiful and that's all you ever were.

when she was four she tied balloons to her wrist.

they always rose, she knew. balloons always found the clouds.

she sat in the grass with her legs crossed and fastened string after plastic string to her arm, and until her hand turned blue she waited

waited to rise.

when she was ten she smashed a hold in the frozen water across the street.

water always carried people away
it ran when they couldn't run themselves
and frozen water,
she figured,
would be slower--
less harsh but it would bring her far from home all the same.

white and blue as the clouds she'd longed for,
they pulled her from the frigid water
six miles downstream

even fastened to a hospital bed with 'suicidal' harshly painted on her soul
she knew she didn't belong

when she was fifteen she joined the party,

older kids were swallowing their sorrows and threading out their despairs in a pitiful drug-induced slumber

and she watched with a syringe in her hand, as read to join them as she was to die.

she was born to die.

and so the needle in her arm and the tragedy on her breath was enough to help her rise.

and as her eyelids turned back to icy blue and her identity was wiped clean she felt a pressure against the crisscrossed skin of her wrist

and as her mind followed her heart out of the world she would have sworn it was a black balloon

that carried her to oblivion.