You have your hold on me
I’m suffocating
Every time I manage a small gasp of air
It doesn’t feel right
Like I shouldn’t be here
Or even breathing at all
You are not who I remember
The man I see
Standing right beside me
With grip so strong
I need to break free
The suffocation grows
You fill me with dread
Wishing I were dead
So I could break free of this hell
The others you will tell
The lies you will spread
Of how it came
To me being dead

I want to dance around the room in just your shirt
and remember the way it felt to be alone with you.

♫There you were in your black dress/Moving slow to the sadness.♫

                                          (When I am too tired to move
                                                    and too lazy to think
                                             I will recall the distinct taste
                                                    you left in my mouth,
                                  imprinted on my tongue and in my heart;
like citrus
and melancholy,

like strawberries,
like fear.)

I was wandering
like the others when
Music!
rang out over our heads,
The Fiddler was benched
in the square--

with an instrument
strung: beautiful red
strings.
They were quivering
like tendons,
The Fiddler plucked
music from them,
from us--

Strangers danced about,
silly at first
and then slower
confused and close--

I remember the spinning,
the blind Fiddler grinning,
the red strings singing
their promises to us,
I was dancing
like the others

and in all of our loneliness
we danced our feet raw
to the tune
of The Fiddler's jig:
A Call To Threadbare Hearts

I used to trip down the street
With nothing in my head
Asking myself questions
I never knew the answer to
Over again and under
Nothing has ever made sense
So why should it now?

Why do I care?
What the **** right does insecurity have over me and my life?
What purpose does it serve?
Why does it want me in a hole?
Why won't it realize that it's not welcome here?
And why can't I have a days peace without these nagging thoughts?

I like to get drunk
Probably a little more than the average person
And it's all because of these things
These things, these thoughts, these horrors
That take me to their pit
Introduce me to their leader
Bleeding black and spitting acid in my face
I'm burned now
And have been, time and time again

I think it's time this stops
I seriously need to rid myself if this ****
This living Hell
I need to take a stand
Get the **** up and scream or something
Let it all out
And live everyday like I'm a drunk *******
Saying whatever, whenever and to whoever I want

Yeah, that'd be the life.

Above our heads exists a vast ether of ideas
and we’re lucky enough
to feel the rain from time to time.

These drops manifest in
our music,
our words,
our dance.

So don’t curse the weather man
with the tacky yellow rain jacket.
Rejoice in the coming deluge
and cup your hands to receive
this
communal
water

Open your eyes
so these enlightened raindrops
may find their way
through to our souls
so steadfastly guarded
against
heavenly
intervention.

The unorthodox are the true prophets
for their ways are those of the future,
so in the now, most kings get their head cut off.

But as death is the greatest prophet,
for it never fails to come true,
their martyrdom proves their ways truer than the footsteps of their fathers,
so in the face of adversities;
never be afraid to be a lonely Jesus on the Cross.

It's as though I put the blemish in the perfect peach...
I am suffocating under the weight of breathless air...
A comodity in which only I am entitled...
There is no light in the direction in which I adhere..
Yet, I aimlessly transpose further into the darkness...
I would have gladly ceased to exist, than to taint the life to which I was entitled...
And for this reason,
The puzzle has lost the pieces to finish it's picture -
To complete it's beauty..

I am not....

The cold distance between two hearts,
Once beating simultaneously, in unison -
A small disconnection,
A simple malfunction,
Unforeseen miscommunication amidst unvanquished certainty -
Muzzled, tightened grip,
Cloaking an angst shell of a body,
Harvesting repressed emotions,
Alluring a passive tongue -
Releasing an outpour of an outcry in an outburst,
Retribution -
Freedom released from with-in,
Healing of a contorted soul...
Commence.