I love white roses.
They are blank pages,
Filled with words
Of invisible honesty,
But I paint them red.
I cover them up
With lies. –
Lies of the things
Only of what
Other people will.
I love white roses,
But mine are dripping
Red with the paint
Of lies that cover
A multitude of sins
A multitude of scars
A multitude of
Mistakes.
I love white roses.
They are honest.
They are perfectly
Imperfect.
They show everything.
I love white roses.

The schoolyard bully-year knocked me down,
But while I was laying crying on the ground,
I gained some perspective, and remembered a love of mine. -
And while that year was pointing, laughing at me,
I got back on my feet.
Dusting myself off and drying my tears,
I caught it by surprise.
Wrestling it to the ground,
Rolling all around,
I made that year mine.
Kicking and screaming,
I made it bleed the times I wanted to see.
After all was said and done,
I asked the year "Why have you been so mean?"
And came the simple reply,
"Because you needed it."
We shook hands and went and got a beer,
And with every coming year,
I remember that one,
Who taught me a lesson I needed to learn,
Even if I had no idea I needed it.

She put on her dancing shoes,
And twirled in her dress.
He watched her sing,
And the microphone she caressed.
She sang to him,
"You don't have to call me darlin', darlin',
you never even called me by my name."
The room felt warm with spirits.
Other people looked and were jealous.
When would they find what they had? -
Sometimes it seems you find what you are looking for,
When you're not looking at all.
Someone made her a martini,
And she drank every last sip.
A bottle of bourbon was passed,
And she drank a little of it.
The night shifted and swayed like a dance,
And people sang and laughed,
But her eyes were on him,
And his hands on her.
When the music ended,
They staggered home,
Holding each other. -
They fell asleep,
But the music still rang in their ears,
Like tomorrow would never come.

A storm rages through the caverns of my mind,
My hearts trees sway and bend,
Taking in the hurricane.
I am at war. -
Too much to say,
But no way to speak it.
All alone the branches break,
But there is not one person here,
Who will clean up the debris.
I am gone gone gone
Blown away by the wind,
I can only watch and pray the storm will end.
Theres a jungle in my heart,
And a buzzing wind through my brain.

Nothing matters.
Nothing makes sense.

The thunder rolls outside,
And the time for class is coming,
But I can't skip today.
I wonder if its raining where you are,
And I wonder if you think of me.
Probably not though.
I don't want to think about you either.
I  PUSH
              PUSH
                         PUSH
You out of my mind,
And listen to the R
                          A
                              I
                                 N
and T   U   D   R
          H   N   E
instead.

You came to me in a dream,
And showed me your fathers will,
And all I could do was hold you and cry,
Until I noticed the angry grunting noises you made.
Then somehow you just wanted me to laugh,
Instead of me making you.
So you tickled and I giggled,
And we rolled round in the floor.
Its sad to me that even in dreams,
You seem to haunt me even more.

Martini glasses chime with floating olives,
Cocktail dressed, and music playing,
Clamoring voices and velvet hands.
Will I measure my life in coffee spoons? -
Or plastic sticks where olives used to be.
Salty sweet like the sweat of angels,
You hand me my drink,
Electricity passes through your fingertips.
I am shocked.
You sweep me into your arms,
We glide over the floor,
The rock songs play but we waltz.
“Take your time, Love”
I tell you but you never listen.
Will you ever learn,
Or will I?
We do this dance around
All the questions we will ignore,
Just for one more moment.
One more dance.
Just one.
The martini glasses clank.
Cheers to the moment,
It hangs in the air,
Wafting, dispersing, infecting our clothes,
it lingers.

There were some books in the hall,
I was told that they were yours,
And the thought crossed my mind
That, were you ever to haunt a thing instead of place,
It would be books-
Your books.
The smell of the old paper
Filled my nose.
It was like walking into a library.
A book of English drama
Lay in the stack-
Heavy and black.
Your name scrawled on the spine,
White against the dark.
It reminded me of you,
So I took it,
Raggedy spine and all.
And now it sits on my shelf,
To reassure me, much the way you did.
Of what I’m not sure,
Perhaps just for a sense of solidarity.
Books will always be there,
Living and breathing,
Even when their owners have gone.

I see you often in my dreams
And try to remember your warmth.
Sometimes I think I hear you calling me,
But this old house echoes that I am alone.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply;
I smell your favorite gum on my breath.
All at once you seem to be here,
And I hear your old piano sing.
The song is familiar, and I hear your voice,
“Amazing grace how sweet the sound.”
If only it had been enough to save a wretch like me.
The old house again falls empty and silent.
As quickly as you came, you left.
So I sit alone on this old piano bench
In the doorway of your old house
And reminisce.

Set apart from the world
On this little gravel road
I’m hidden away
By dancing leaves
On swaying trees.
The sun shifts
Shade lifts and falls,
And I am alone but free.

The wind blows
Tousling my hair.
And days are spent
Without care.
Country roads
Carry me along,
The beaten path
I travel alone.

When I go back
To where I’ve been
I will think of the road
And soon visit again.
Gravel roads, they call out to me—
I will always long to be
Beneath the trees
Feeling that shady breeze.

Hi, its me,
I’m loosing my mind.
Say nothing, say something, nothing.
I’m  a ****** everything to have,
For days, weeks, months, of life.
Nothing makes a difference,
No one changes.
I’m Tired, scared, lonely.
In a room full of people,
Panic consumes me.
Its dark, and cold and grey.
Its life.
Hi, its me.

I see in front of me a road and path,
It winds and turns and throws me back,
I walk and run but no difference is made,
My legs are weak and I see my grave.

I go backwards and forwards,
The Cheshire cat I see,
“Which way do I go?”
And comes his reply,
“That all depends on where you want to be.”

Before my eyes all spun around,
The melded colors flew all around,
And my eyes were fixed on one road,
And suddenly I knew where I wanted to be,
But there I was, just my path, and me.

There is something about deciding a man is good,
That makes you love him.
There is one in particular who is always there,
He always put his family first,
Even when it’s falling apart.
Even when it tears him apart.
That makes him good;
Whether he sees it or not.
I see it, and that’s all that I’ve got.
And I’ll never tell those sad eyes no,
Because even though he thinks we’re different,
We’re not.

My love left me standing in the woods,
A place we have often gone,
And upon seeing my face forlorn,
He stood up and walked on.

There were no words of comfort,
Only pity in his eyes,
I should have known better,
After all he never did lie.

Standing alone now in the woods, I wonder,
What was it about my heart he plundered,
That made his face turn ghostly white,
And turn and run into the night.

Was it my neuroses that cried out,
Like owls screeching, “WHO!  WHO!”
Demanding the name that vexed them,
Or was it simply that I cared, perhaps too much for him to bear.

Regardless now I stand alone,
On these two feet I call my own,
In these woods this darkened night,
And all above I hear the owls take their flight.

Wild Turkey towers over us,
The motor hums and roars,
Gurgling along, cutting through.
We bounce then settle,
And feel the soft spray,
Of that ***** water.
Finding a deep shady spot,
There is splashing and crashing,
Against the sparkling muddy water,
The sun makes the surface warm,
But our feet feel the cool.
We swim and listen to the sound:
The whiskey river.

It licked up my soul,
Sloppy and wet like a dogs tongue,
Consuming everything,
Covering my heart,
Burning it blue and bright,
You lit the fuse,
The one that had been out for so long,
I thought it was a dud,
But the sparks flew,
And my heart felt like it might burst,
And it did, but not the way I thought.
It was happy again.
Your fingertips erase old memories,
The ones I cried over for months,
And now I see new light.
I see your fire,
My fire.
Ours.

Sometimes I can’t get out of bed,
It’s the thought that you’re with her,
That girl who is always going to be prettier,
It doesn’t matter what her name is.
Every time someone says your name,
I flash back to that peach dress,
The warm summer night,
You took me in your arms,
Kissed me, breathless,
And asked me,
“Now why don’t you like this dress?”
How happy I was.  Just then.
And reality comes crashing down,
Like the loudest sound you’ve never heard,
And I’m in bed, and alone, and it’s dark.
Even this takes me back though,
To the night I couldn’t sleep,
And you found me in the kitchen,
You brought me back to bed,
And tried to make sense of my mind.
There is no one left to try,
And I’m too tired.
Sleep comes easily,
But dreams of you do not.
Memories are easier,
Sometimes.