Escape the silent screech on walls
in the darkness, hiding down halls
run while you can into the night
fore if you stay there's sure to be--
fright

Flee from the monsters under your bed
and from the ones locked inside your head
disappear now, before its too late
fore if you stay you might not like your--
fate

You and your morals
get to me.

I thought maybe you would be softened
by my secretly seductive scent,
the way I work my curves,
how I voice your name.

I was wishing
your will might switch off that little song
which is telling you this is all wrong.

I hope that you fall back on me.
Just let yourself go,
Immerse in my sweet nothings,
as our noses rubbed gently.

Let me do everything to you
and leave regrets to tomorrow
leave guilt to old age.

But no.
you're Moral.

And that's what I love about you.

It sits on the top shelf
Gathering
Thoughts
As days
Months
Years go by
Sometimes without disturbance
Collecting its layers of
Mud tracked in
Or
Dandruff rubbed from an itchy scalp
That got caught in the currents
And brought to the top
Of the shelf
Where it sits
Until a chance
Blows by
Tumbling into the air
Catching on sneezes
And sunlight
Making the light a
Solid
Tangible
Kingdom

Dear the girl over there,
I dont mean to stare,
its hard not to,
I know I really dont know you,
and you havnt made the move,
but you havnt stopped smiling either,
maybe together we can make new believers,
to love in a place that seems to being loosing a lot,
So lets grab hands and go to a spot,
where we can sing loudly and whisper things no one cares aboot,
I'll get my suit,
you get your dress,
and we will destroy the all you can eat buffet and laugh at our mess,
So take my hand and we will go to the moon,
and make the lovers that swoon,
all jealous that we dont try so hard,
so consider me a tuneless bard,
with bad rhymes,
and fly by the seat of your pants
and take a chance,
it will be fun,
I promise.

your words have become like oil stains,
staining my soul,
like blades, stabbing inflicting pain,
these lines on my forehead,
have left me growing cold,
old.

The devil looks familiar
When I pass him in the streets
Something about his hair and eyes
reminds myself of me
Or you perhaps.
His face is never clear
Always changing.
But the devil is always
Familiar to me
Perhaps because
I am so familiar with him

We're just in love with the idea of being In love