They say three thousand men
Died on Omaha Beach
In 1944;
Far from their mother’s arms

And their father’s proud reach,
Brave men, who walked the path
Of death, paid the highest
Cost with their bone and flesh,

Another red sea was
This, coloured by rivers
From young men’s veins, lost limbs,
Lost lives, and battered brains,

And far from homes across
The sea and loved one’s touch
And kiss and hold. Such is
The price of peace, the cost

Of war, remember them
And the high price they paid
And where their bones are laid.

asking all the questions but the hardest one

-           -           -          -          -

when you say you want to cry because you’re sorry, i want to weep because i don’t believe in apologies

-           -           -          -          -

the almost blue sky is suffocatingly beautiful. unfamiliar bed and an all too familiar feeling. limbo limbo limbo under this invisible bar;backbending for the small things, the intangible things. like the dark green around your iris, or the slight, instinctual brush against my cheek.giveandtakegiveandtakegiveandtake,give

-i love you

-i can’t answer that truthfully

-           -           -          -          -

i walk outside in the dark and there you are, blowing dandelions with your back on the grass, a friend who shows up when i don’t realize i need it

-           -           -          -          -

‘you seem like the type of girl who has never had to watch a dream die’

-           -           -          -          -


justification for not sleeping: why the **** break a perfectly handsome insomnia streak? also, music.

-           -           -          -          -

roofs, cigarettes, porches, cigarettes, satisfyingly self destructive habits, Tom Waits, coffee black as the nicotine inside

-           -           -          -          -


or whatever.

City slicker
Softer than a midnight whisper
Warm breath bathes your ear
Watch me flicker
On and off the streetlight
Nothing ever feels right
Until the radio comes on
angels sing the  song
getting closer
To  backwards understanding
anti-social
Like a feather on the wind
Try to keep my friends
But I'm bitter
hear a good thing
My past is all a dead dream
Memory, you cheap skate
Paying me at half rate



Don't you open up your front door
To the wind that's weak and gentle
Playing with the thistle like a child
Feeling weak and tired
I lay down for a nap
On the peace of your lap


Where I dream of going far
Trudging deserts by the cool of the dark
Sailing ships by the pull of the star  
lost in the blue
May I come to you

Sleep won't come to me
It never has

Sometimes I lie awake

I count one to ten million 'til the sunshine comes

Tick goes the clock

Time goes by

I close my eyes and relax

Just as the dreams
Curl like clouds
When I reach out to touch
My fingertips, against

falling


I sit up straight in terror



At three the ghost come out and haunt me only
(Because) I give them the attention
Like clockwork at four
I dream of a girl
I dream of fire and blood
The numbers go by
One to twelve

I can't sleep and I'm in hell