I'm singing my heart out tonight,
And I'm writing out the poetry of my life.
Nothing else to me seems so pure,
And not a minute of anything other is worth my time,
Because with my voice and my words,
I believe that my message to you is said most clear.

So with those words I hear,
My voice begins to take to the sky,
And I leave you behind.
I have no need, no want to wave goodbye
To you my girl, who used to be my girl,
Because as you asked me all of those months ago not to,
It'd be a waste of my time.
And now, I begin to fight all of those lies,
And I've finally ripped free of all of those ties -
Ripped out all of your spines - free
From my body,
Free from my soul,
And most importantly, free
From my mind,
As I'm so high off of the ground,
Reveling in the perfect sound
Of being so free of the tourniquet that was you.
And I'm out of my mind
- So many thousands of feet off of the ground -
Away from your life,
And away from the sound.
There's so many feet  between me and
You, that tried to plant me firm in the ground.
I just thank God for everyday
The He's kept you away from me.

I scream, I write and yell as you sing along,
But no matter what I say, you never ever catch on,
So I have to sing my heart out as I bleed on
For you to realize how your actions treat me wrong.

My dear love, why can't you see what you do to me?
And why do you cut deeper with every word you say?
Despite all that I've told you what you've done to me,
And with how crazy you've said I've become recently.

Heart, burn.
And, Heart, break me.
But from now on,
Ihave to sing to thee
In order that you truly hear me,
And all of the poetry

That I've written for you.

Words, words, words,
That's all they be,
And words, words, words,
That's all they see,
But those words, words, words,
Combined with the voice within me
Means so much more than you can see.

I speak and call to you
And everything comes from me,
But hard as I try to reach you,
I can't help as I'm falling free,
Spinning, diving, out of control.
The world divides around me
And I am left drowning.

Please God, oh please,
Don't desert on me.

I speak
And I see
And I feel
And I know
But most of all
I know
It makes me
The being who I be
And that makes me
Me
And it prevents you and me
It prevents we
From being me
It keeps me original
As original as that first sin
As Adam and Eve
Conceiving
Just what it means
To be as human being
As you and me, My Lady
And if as God decreed
That Love is blasphemy
Then strike me down
And set me free
For in this awful life
I don't want to be

I can't help but feel the power of music
As it pulls my soul between me and you
Its poetry being pure as can be
And its singing that means so much to me
Either or and there's no other way
That can express the depths of me
The meanings that try and come from me
Encompassed within me
But all that you have done
Has come out and killed me
And here I am left singing of you
Singing my heart where I know all is kept true
And I see through all the lies
You spread through my mind and life

To sing is what truly sets me free
And the write poetry makes me me
Without either I wouldn't tell you
Precisely what I think of how you've hurt me.

Heaven above, my love
my heart, my world.
My love for you
and its strength for you
has power beyond words
that will never let go.
It will not shrivel and be gone
when the paper has devolved
back to its roots
when time out of mind
has worn it down to none.

The insanity
that seizes me
is fertilized by your past actions
and incubated in my head,
growing and growing
'til it can no longer be contained.
Then I burst out as crazy
to vent all my mind
to build anew
in that space left vacant.

As I feel by turns spurned
and then jealousy in return,
on and off that keeps
the wheels of this evil complex
moving.
That jealous want
to be with you
and to be all to you,
causes my downfall in your eyes.

And I am left with love
as I try to continue to be good
to you and your needs
at such a distance.
I love you
- it feels as my only function -
and its all I ever want to do.

How is it to be
Me, when I cannot write?
When I cannot quite seem
To dream the words to convey...
Onto the page?

What is it to be
A writer who cannot write?
I feel like one in a squeeze
I cannot breathe and turn
To rage.

I think and think and
Turn my brain.
It twists and turns, it rains and storms,
But when with words
Its rent and torn, spent and worn.

The gift is gone.
The inks run dry.
The apple of my mind's eye
Has evaporated away,
And I am left, spinning cliche.