the mists have returned
to this ancient wood
what a time to light up
a cigarette or two
and pretend like nothing's changed
and nothing ever changes
make myself believe
that on the filter i don't taste her lips
and in the mist her eyes
glancing back and forth
her lips around my cigarette
her eyes around my secret sorrow
and my body
and everything i ever was
in the woods i am collapsing
my body twitches
and i decompose
the nicotine has done me in
i swear it was the nicotine
i swear

the singer's gone,
he's killed himself
did you hear?
was it ambition?
or was it the great ol' gloom
that did him in?
the songs appear again
they travel in the wind
and i can hear the birds still singing
that mellow tune
wind plays the harp
my heart beat drums
it comes together in the end
the singer lives

                                                                                             the singer lives

is that your voice,
way over hill and dale,
or are those sirens again
are these tears,
that wet my sunken cheeks,
or is that rain,
too embarrassed to pour
is that the redness of your cheeks
and the freckles,
little stardust,
or is it the sky, blushing,
and the stars come out to haunt

sometimes i cannot fully comprehend loss
until i look back
and there is no one at the window
waving

tell me something certain
put a period or bullet at the end
do not slowly dissappear
as if fading into mist
stab me, shoot me,
slice open my throat
bury me in sand
and wait for waves to crush my bones
i cannot see your texts
grow ever infrequent
and their drying up
like tomatoes on a windowsil
**** me **** me **** me
and all the air we breathed
between ourselves
i plead you do not disappear

i just want someone
to hug me and to kiss me
and hold me in your tight embrace
right in the middle of the street
between falling autumn leaves
without months of yearning
and sleepless nights in agony
or at least a cat
that would also be quite good
preferribly orange

my body belongs
to the highest bidder,
i have given up