Your fingers hum the introduction of regret,
Your tongue sings the refrain of apology,
And your eyes, when I can see them, vibrate the silent sound of unknowingness.

Your song is one I do not recognize, or know,
But still, I wish I could sing it with you.

I forgive you.

A thought form the aether
Will come to me,
And I will claim it
Comfortably.

But the matter of fact
Of the matter is that
I will take it as that
Wholeheartedly.

A dream from the aether
Will plague me.
I’ll awake and remember it
Vaguely.

But the matter of fact
Of the matter is that
I’ll endure it, and this, that
Sanely.

A force from the aether
Will slay me.
I’ll perish and join it there,
Maybe.

But the matter of fact
Of the matter is that
The aether is not he that
Blames me.

The aether is not one to shame me.

To see is to lie,
I’ve Closed my eyes
To truthful cries they tell.
No one to trust,
Deaf ears save rust,
In darkness, lone I fell.
To hell I’m cast,
I’m falling fast,
I feel awfully cold.
Suddenly, limbs,
They wrap my chest
It’s from they I wish to hold.
Their arms of warmth,
Are arms to trust,
At least, that’s what I’m told.
At least, that’s what I’m told.

Sheep fill my thoughts
To the brim
When I find it hard to sleep.
I wake, I sow,
And even so,
I know not what I reap.
And in the day
My mind is clear
Of wooly creatures’ endless graze.
For in my wake
I lose my fear
Within a sea slug's haze.

Playing with rocks,
Digging in socks,
Playing with spades in the sand.

The metal is hot
When the fire green fox
Steps on and burns up your hand.
There’s a hole in your chest.
Did you do your best?
There’s no one to fill in your grave.

Your now lonely friend
Will die in the end;
The one friend that you couldn’t save
Will be found at the end of his cave.

So long ago,
A boy confessed his love.
                                                                ­                                     So long ago,
Yet she still remembered,
          And she was disgusted.

The sound that resonated as she vomited
Lasted
            for
        months,



Though, she has been long gone.

Man can build their dolls,
And pray to their arts and statues.
They can dream,
and wish,
and fear,
And all,
For they still
Will pay off their dues.

A one true god believed by one
Is flawed in only his jealousy
The men
The women
The children
And sinners
Will follow him ever so readily.

But when men perish
Lives selfishly cherished
Will fly up not to clouds.
They'll trip and fall
And traverse the tall
Pillars that carry earth's crowds.

Even the saints will work when embowed.
In hell, the man is in town.