Little girl, little girl
Tell me of your soul
Tell me of your sorrows
at only 7 years old

I envy the skin that had never been burned
The feelings that had never been hurt
The games you're too young to play
your mind is still pure

But there are monsters
They're just like you and me
I remember when nightmares
were only in my dreams

Little girl, Little girl
I know of your soul
You remind me of my sorrows
At only 7 years old

So little girl if you're empty
Little girl if you're scared
Little girl don't be angry
It's a hard world out there

You were only a dream
A dream so real
but a dream
I could never achieve


Like the sunlight
when it reaches me
but I could never touch
With its brightness
such a blinding light
I could not hope to stare

So instead
I look at the moon
and forget to
sleep at night
because its beauty
elegance
the same as yours
reminds me
of the light

The stars that shine
them I desire
the light's still reaching me
but the star is dead
just like my dreams
My heart in morbid beat

There are times,
Where I want to sing,
Your name and mine,
Tangled in the same tune,
Dancing with the syllables,
All the notes and nothings,
Around and around,
Into the evening hours,
There are times,
Where I have cried,
Familiar faces on morning news,
Funerals for the friends lost,
Childhood ends far too early,
So many nights forgotten,
Sunday morning service,
Prayers for the wrongs I committed,
In the hours prior,
There are times*,
Where I reflected on the memories,
August took a piece of me,
Everything was full of life,
We never even wondered,
About what would become of us,
In the sunrise that followed.

I followed a writer up a tall tree
And every leaf was his poem.

Once at the top I could look out
Over a sprawling poetic landscape –
A resplendent chorus of
Glistening verdant wisdom,
O’ vast quivering sibilance of
Melpomene and Thalia!

And there I remained

Until a long winter wind came
And undressed each tree!
So from my perch,
through gaunt branches,
I could see…
The low-slung place
where each poem fell

I thought, “so many writers,
clothed in so much comedy
and tragedy.”

And down I climbed
and away I walked
Over resting leaves
while red and rust
ran from their veins
Into the rich palette
of my memories

O’ even now
The sweet scent of decay
Reminds me of Spring
when I will climb again.

How can you fail
At something that calls to you;
Calls to your core?

How can you fail
When you try your damnest?
When you give everything you have?

How can you fail
If you want something so much?
If you believe it to be your future?

How can you fail
When all you've given for a year and a half
Hasn't been enough?

How can I fail
If all I want is to succeed
And to have a future?