When shapes begin to form,
and limbs regain their feeling.
When you're conscience of your breath
and the thoughts that you are thinking.
Before the dreams all fade away,
and the harsh light floods your eyes.
That moment when you're not quite sure
If you truly are alive.

The one I love's no Achilles
No massive strength or bravery,
No leader of the cavalry,
yet he leaves me searching, endlessly
for a  single drop of nepenthe
to cure my heart of this disease
called love.

I am no Aphrodite.
But still I hope that he can see
The good I know's inside of me.
And then maybe he and I can be
A flawed Megara and Hercules
And somehow thrive, terminally,
in love.

I search all night for that CD
which holds a special threnody
with just the perfect melody
to help me find the clarity
I seem to yearn for constantly