I had so much passion,
once.
It seeped from every pore.
My heart roared out of me like a lion,
hungry and proud!
I walked with a bop in my step,
fought like a savage,
loved with my whole being.
I was raw,
unfiltered,
naked!
I've come to find,
life has a way of taking that from you.
You add a layer over this scar,
a layer over that one.
The layers stack until the fire inside,
is suffocated.
I'm just going through the motions now.
I starved the lion,
and now my heart is quiet.

The colors of the sun run,
like damaged tapestries.
Painting the sky surrealistic
and I wonder what it means to me.
Light reflected from waters surface
glitters for a moment then refracts,
A million different directions
leaving more questions than it subtracts.
How many lives have sparked and died,
within the never ending depths?
The waves receive the query
and to the bottom it gets swept.

I know I'm just a stranger,
shouting blindly to the dark.
But I will see this message sent,
it comes straight from the heart.
If suicide's consumed your mind,
the "only" option left to you.
Drop me just a couple lines,
what more have you to lose?
I've seen some malice in this world,
I've felt ridiculed and shunned.
I know how attractive it can be,
hell, I've even picked the gun.
So lend me just a moment,
in the least you'll know you're heard.
Maybe with a little luck,
I'll lend some clarity through word.

My words are stuck again;
my tongues gone almost stiff.
Guess I got hung up again.
Got caught up in the mix.

And there's no one to blame,
the tales always the same.
I'll always think of sunshine when someone says your name.

We both knew it had to end,
we both could see the rust.
I'm only sorry that I left,
before I lost your trust.

And there's no one to blame,
the tales always the same.
I will always see your smile at the end of my hard days.

When I get drunk alone,
I think of how you laughed.
Then I look down at my phone,
and I let the moment pass.

I swear there's no one to blame,
this tales always been the same.
I still hear your voice amid the murmur or the rain.

Timing's a funny thing.
It seems I always stroll into a persons' life,
exactly when I'm most useful.
Just a stranger who pops in,
straightens up the place a bit,
then leaves.
Rarely though,
is my timing ever to my own benefit.
Too late, too early,
doesn't matter.
I can only hope that perhaps one day,
I'll find myself somewhere I'm meant to stay.

I'll sit and smoke a cigarette with death,
before we step.
We'll share a couple shots of bourbon,
then we'll down whatever's left.
I could argue on our love,
and all the memories we've kept.
But a part of me is bound,
just to stand and accept.
I don't enjoy a wasted word,
it'll leave me bereft.
So I'll just look him in the eye,
take a drag and save breath.

The wait here is breaking my bones,
I'm always searching for love or I'm searching for home.
No matter how hard that I seem to try,
I wind up just standing in line.
This whiskey will **** me no doubt,
but it's better than tasting your name in my mouth.
I can run, I can hide, I can waste all my time,
but you always wind up on my mind.
The good ones keep walking away,
while the worst ones come through and keep trying to stay.
I'm always asking the world to send me a sign,
but it seems all my hopes are declined.
I've learned on my own I can stand,
that won't ever stop me from grasping for hands.
At the end of the day I'll seek and I'll strive
for a woman who's strong, true and kind.

I've always been a sucker for the deceitful,
the dissolute.
In knowing such, it's become hard to trust my instinct;
it always seems to lead me astray.
I despise wasting effort,
I grow bitter and disillusioned with ease.
Perhaps for a loss,
perhaps for the better,
this realization has forced me,
into reservation.
I expect nothing,
I assume nothing,
I extend myself,
for nothing.
I'm waiting for the universe to align things,
to tell me I'm safe to dive in.
I'm willing,
but waiting.
Show me something.
Tell me something.
Do something!
Like gasoline waiting for a spark,
I've got the potential to start a serious fire;
I just need a little motivation.

It never was that I loved a cigarette,
more than you.
Just that I knew every morning,
when I rolled over,
my smokes would still be on the nightstand.
But your keys would be gone.