I regret sleeping on that couch.
I was never very good at sleeping alone, and sleeping on that couch only made it worse.
Maybe that's why I clutch my pillow at night like my life depends on it.

A pounding headache is all I'm left with while my battered soul still remains there on that couch.
But it's time that I take it back.
It's time that I make a trade.
An eye for an eye, they always say.

So its time that I step out of my perfect fantasy and face reality, because I've become a ****** human being from searching for perfection and love.
We all know we can't obtain it.
I created my own hell, building blocks made out of self loathing, self pity, anger, the list goes on and on.
But every hell must freeze over.

That couch I slept on?
It's in my own mind, residing in the hell I created, smack in the middle of the thousands of hands that grab and choke and claw.
It's right in the middle of my inner demons.

I may still be sad in the morning, if I wake up...
But I'll sleep better knowing that I accepted the past.
Even if I still regret sleeping on that couch.

So,
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I know that my soul is mine to keep.
But if I should die before I wake,
I know that all of my struggles were not a mistake.

I know something's changed
because when I look into my eyes
They're finally clear

On our knees
with arrows sticking out
we used to be adventurers like you
till we got married.

I have sent a drop of rain that you will get some time tomorrow
Two inside a paper cup just to drown away your sorrow
Another drop upon the heart that I now seek to borrow
Three more frozen with the words we kept holding to the morrow
I'll send a drop of rain for each tear that you have wept
One at a time to ease the pain of promises made but never kept
So save the water inside jars, my garden ceiling is turning gray
Each blade of grass a glass-like shard since the day I went away.

In the absence of light, she sang to me a lyric
We had both been awake, but I could barely hear it
And although she was desperate, no sound was left heard
Through her quivering lips, never uttered a word
I listened for hours, as the sun scorched the earth
Until night fell upon us and the moon came to birth
Every dream that we shared, the *** and the violence
She now carries despair and that gut-wrenching silence
Memory of her faded as time grew less relevant
And years fled in the spires of light with no end
I will never know of the things she had said
But I felt them sink into where I lay with the dead.

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

The simple art of poetry
Cannot be expressed by me
It cannot be expressed by I
But it must be expressed by we  

It is not always as simple as words
Yet there does not have to be rhyme and verse
In short, it may be plain
But when read it gives feeling
Again and again