The world’s light shines, shine as it will,
The world will love its darkness still.
I doubt though when the world’s in hell,
It will not love its darkness half so well.

He came in on the Greyhound bus
with deep brown eyes
smoldering like coals in his skull
the lines on his face
and the final remains
of puberty induced acne
made his age impossible to guess
He put up in the YMCA
locked up in his room
smoking with the windows open
drinking Wild Irish Rose
It felt good
as it's warmth flowed through his veins
he felt the tightness which gripped him
dissolve until he felt
adrift in an ocean of wine
He went out on the streets
The city was mostly dead at night
which allowed him the privilege
of being alone,
his destination was unknown
and near empty buses
filled with few unfortunate to be awake
He thought
he might like to burn this place down
so something,
anything could happen
to spur him from
apathetic footholds
their had to be some action,
some life,
some danger,
left in the world,
and until then
he would drink and smoke
and wait to die
and he would move,
from town to town
until the road ran out.
A transient

If the roads turns to the footpaths -
Room by room house never standby
The wings of heart find ways - it knows how to fly.

Tonight I turn off the light
the same as I did last night.
In bed, I cuddle close to an illusion,
holding you tight.

Before I go off to sleep
I stare into your imaginary eyes.
As I wrap my arms around your vivid imagery;
Past times are alive in my memory.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
cont.

http://voices.yahoo.com/phantom-nights-10795773.html?cat=10

As I peer through distant memories,
One day sticks out in my mind--
The day my mom handed me a ******* bag
And said go make something pretty
Back then, that was all it took to be inspired.
I ran to my bedroom, grabbing scissors on the way,
And constructed an enormous bow
That I wore as a crown,
And for the rest of the day, I was Princess Julia.
Life was much easier back then.

But things are different now.
In the back of my closet, hidden in the darkness
Is another black plastic bag with my secrets inside.
My hopes and dreams, bitterness and fears,
Insecurity and all of my worthlessness
Are consumed by that black plastic bag.
Each night, I sit on my bed, and empty my brain.
I write it all down, and give it all up
To my black hole of emotions,
If only for the night.

Is it bad to want to be dependent?
I don't want to be able to stand on my own.
Is it wrong to be socially ignorant?
I would really just rather be alone.

Would I?
No, that can't be.
I want to be alone with you.
And you with me.

To be completely alone,
Scares me.
To be cared for too much,
Petrifies me.

I want to be alone,
Yet scared to be so.
I want to be liked,
Never loved.

I never think I'm good enough,
Yet I am better than her.

What a contradiction,
I must be.

Listen up, sweater.

   take good care of my love now

         when her joy is boundless, hop around like a fool and
         revel in the excitement of each crisp little sound

                and in the cold nights lay warm beside her, whether as
                pillow or cuddlee and be the soft whisper for hands to hold
                the mooring point for beautiful dreams

                       (you are hers while I'm away because
                             I am hers no matter where I go)

            and in that rustle of fabric, that cloth to smooth skin
            do speak my name
                                 and retain all our scents when we laughed in her
                                 arms so she'll smile and close her eyes and
                                 burrow into you

listen up, sweater.
               take good care of my love now

A look,
a smile,
a shy look away
just playing the game,
a brunette girl
dressed with class,
a checkered skirt
past the knees
and an olive blouse
leaving a lot to the imagination,
they both know,
that they have been eyeing each other,
for the past twenty minutes,
but neither makes the first move,
they were just looking to play the game
not to finish it