The angel of glass
has not fallen
yet, hanging still
by a thread so
thinly - as ice
skating lovers drift
closer to a fire
cracking like branches
laden with snow

And felt as beautiful as you think she is.

I wish I walked into a room and grabbed attention as much as she grabs yours.

I wish I spoke and captivated someone the way she captivates you when she says your name.

I wish I awoke in the morning and heard my true love's heartbeat next to mine as she does every day.

I wish I knew a love as strong as your love for her.

I do not wish for your love, though, because I know that is one thing that is far out of my reach. I only wish for someone to love me the way that you love her, so that maybe someday I will love him as much as I still love you.

Drunk,
you called for me to catch up

Drunk,
you bowed and kissed my hand
and asked me to curtesy

Drunk,
you offered up your arm to me
and laughed when you somehow managed
to mess that up

Drunk,
you kissed me on the corner
with the lights of the cars around us

Drunk,
you held my hand as we walked
and did not flinch as others passed us

Drunk,
you wrapped your arm around my waist
in front of your friends
and held me tighter
than you ever have

In the morning,
I find out that you were sober
and my heart skips a beat

I'd like to run away
Leave everything behind
But what I can not leave
Is all the things I really need to lose

I'd like to run away
From the black hole
Inside my chest

I'd like to run away
Leave all those memories
In a pile behind

I'd like to run away
Forget all that's been
But I can't
Because if I ran away
I'd be compleatly alone again
And I couldn't stand that
Once again

Oh qualia, you cover my eyes,
And hold me chained to my lies.
Subject as it stands, the world
Is in my head,
I’d wish the solips sold away their rights.

Fine as she was I met her one day,
A pretty lass of such inky hair.
She turned me down, as it stood,
And so I began
The walk of a thousand woods.

For every man that stood,
Sat in his head the world
Veiled in black.

No such thing you’d think!
But quiet are the felled trees
Of woods never seen.

But hear me now when I say,
His pen is key to my malady.
For a scribe he is
Of the veil that he sees.

When you read those marks
Of this pen,
You see what he sees,
Reduced to his truth,
The many casts of die strewn
Of hands from up above.

‘Simple are your words that are true’, you say,
And ask of piqued voice,
‘What reason be for your melancholy?’

Ah! How my woe does hide
In qualia’s great bright light!

I wish that the solips were right,
That in my head alone stood the world.
But no! but no!

In my head stands a world of broken truth.

That I would not rise to smell her hair
As the morning light struck right,
Is my tragedy.
Oh! Another man’s delight!

And not a thousand of his words
For qualia,
Could have fed my life’s zest.