Wipe the mirror on the bathroom door,
So it’s clearer that you lost the war,
A longing look, a stubborn stare,
The pills you took to make them care,
And a stranger’s name that you call home,
In shoes you couldn’t make your own,
As you tiptoed through that cautious crime,
In a cold room where you sold your time,
Until those four walls became a maze,
Where you got lost for days and days,
Hoping footprints might leave uncovered,
A world to pretend that you discovered,
As everything you took for granted,
Became the place your flag was planted,
Still you long for all that isn’t there,
And seek purpose in the midnight air,
Hoping someday someone will recognize,
The scream behind your hollow eyes,
And realize that you are so much more,
Than the reflection on that bathroom door,
But for now, just hold your head up high,
Say you’re sorry, swear you’ll try,
Expect a feast, but be content with crumbs,
And dance until the music comes.

Dressed in dripping shadows, an angel with no wings,
She was dangling from the ceiling, a puppet with no strings,
Eyes heavy with ambition, a soul you couldn’t mend,
Handfuls of good intentions you never found a way to spend,
Now from across the table, we dissect our better times,
Like foggy silhouettes trying to color inside our lines,

Remembering that winding road that got us here,
And the one goodbye that taught us fear,
We took apart a future that we couldn’t face alone,
And built another house that we would never make a home,
I told you about a destination that I felt but couldn’t see,
And how all of that nothing still means everything to me,

Maybe this kind of talk has no place behind the neon glow,
But you know I never knew how or when to let it go,
So tonight I’ll put my better self back upon the shelf,
And try to count the years since I last felt like myself,
As I stare up at the stars, I can see them oh so clear,
Still I never figured out how to make it there from here.

It’s true you can’t go home again, no matter what they say,
But the world is out there waiting; who would want to anyway?
There is no glory in the bleached bones of ghosts we leave behind,
So I whistle past the graveyard in that corner of my mind,
Still haunted by the chains that I escaped but couldn’t break,
Before the truth became the only bitter pill I didn’t take,
All it cost me was a life I thought I wanted, another best-laid plan,
And every single thing I ever thought it took to be a man,
Now the path curves to a circle, I come back only to leave,
Progressing towards an ending that I feel but don’t believe,
Maybe someday I’ll learn the difference between loss and letting go,
Ignore signs and highway lines, make footprints in the snow,
But until that day I’ll keep repeating every word I never said,
Only awake inside my dreams, only alive in my own head.

The thing about spending almost a decade
In social isolation is you forget what's normal.
Imagine my shock when my friend casually pulls me close to her,
A half-hug, friendly embrace.
No context needed, because touches don't always hold
Some deep, meaningful intention.
Yet for the past almost a decade, that's been my reality.
How rare the hugs, how they only ever follow extreme sadness
Or loneliness, the desire for comfort and support.
How I can never reach out to touch someone
Unless I've done it a thousand times before,
And even then, it's an intentional act of love.
Every movement of every muscle is planned in advance,
To minimise the fearful, pounding beats of my heart.
For someone like me, where anxiety floods through all my veins,
I don't know the meaning of the word 'casual'.
And I don't know if I'll ever learn it.

There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When all artistic, damaged or insomniatic souls
Feel like they're completely alone
Even though we're all awake and feeling the same thing.
12am is still too loud, still too car engines and shouting,
And 6am is too light, too exposing and awake, aware.
It's blackness but for the starlight puncturing holes in the sky,
That's when the magic arises and enchants us.
The way the moon looks at us and begs us to untrouble our weary hearts,
So we do it, and we do it willingly.
She is the most unfaithful lover, and it is beautiful.
How she cherishes each whispered secret so deeply
That it leaves a crater on her being.
How she takes on our pain unflinchingly,
And only needs 28 days to feel whole again.
There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When the most trapped souls can feel such freedom.

There was a girl
I used to swap paperbacks
and spit with, once
I fixed her wiper blades,
I remember the soft dead wings
on the windshield,  pretty
as you please

She was alone in her shoes
listening to something
that kept getting darker
and glowing like morning
on the oil spilled under her truck,
she was drifting through
the rosewater of her soft red hair

She only wanted to be rolling
off a swollen river, sliding
out of a clean slip, turning
over in a deep sleep, trailing
a shimmering thread, hiding
under a pile of wet leaves

Then there she was sailing
in her river of blood,  going
white and smelling like smoke
from a struck match behind
closed blinds on a ceramic floor,
a white blouse red as a sharp knife
collecting the light of mourning.

Woke with the sting of regret, it’s been too long since I fell,
I missed the rush of fresh air, I missed the taste of the smell,
I was in love with the tightrope, the stained glass of her eyes,
Bowed by the weight of surrender, I settled for compromise,
Watching those false idols dance, turning wolves into sheep,
As we played coy with the monsters that sang us to sleep,
I had a million places to go, and so much I’d hoped to say,
But I wasted another tomorrow thinking about yesterday,
And those sticky situations where we all came unglued,
While I daydreamed a sky that wouldn’t mirror my mood,
A slow dance with routine, and every face looks the same,
I was choking to death on the stale taste of my name,
So I started sanding sharp edges, hoping that I might fit in,
I spent a year writing my ending, so I could finally begin,
Dusting off open road acrobatics, I twisted south by the sea,
Searching for the rotting remains of who I thought I should be,
But it was just another battle that I lost to the war,
The same wrecking ball feet with new roads to explore,
Nothing quite felt right, my fingertips became springs,
I’d lost the girl to save the world, and other foolish things,
It was my first last-ditch effort, my best second guess,
I painted myself into a corner of the picture of success,
Fifteen-hundred miles, and still felt so far out of reach,
Until late one night my phone rang as I walked along the beach,
I told my story to the old man as he listened patiently,
When I finished, he calmly asked me to turn and face the sea,
He said, “The ocean is the journey, the sum of all you gave,
Do not lose perspective; this is but a single wave.”
I drove home that night and slept for the first time in half a week,
And when I awoke, the path before me didn’t feel quite so bleak,
I realized there’s no shame in letting someone catch us if we fall,
And that being lost is different than being nowhere at all,
I learned that each story is a lesson, not merely a scar,
And that all we have left is not the same as everything we are.

Somewhere
someway,
My heart shall embrace
the closeness and warmth of
another being.
Where I can be in awe,
Over the tranquility of her
blessings.
Where I can weave this eternal string of its mystery,
To balance fine lines between us.
Let us travel through
desperate measures,
In search for new ground.
Somewhere
someway,
Love will be an adventure
waiting to explore.
The needs of someone wanting more,
Than just simple affection.