Outside the thunder shakes the earth,
and the trees quiver in response to the
way their god brings his wrath to the world
and they know this is not a force to be
reckoned with, and the lightening illuminates
everything for a moment, sickly proud of
the destruction its causing

Inside my thoughts shake my body and my
bones quiver in response to the way my
mind brings its wrath to myself and i
know this is not a force to be reckoned with
every so often light shines upon
forever hidden skin sickly proud of
the destruction its causing

August is the Sunday of summer
I wish we could keep the sun forever
I wish that we could stay together,
but August is the Sunday of summer

I cannot stand to know you're leaving
My biggest gripe with life is that it
leaves me with no breath
There's nothing we can say now
because without summer there's
nothing left

All we have are skeletons of July
Rain soaked memories of June
The dreadful ending of August

August is the Sunday of summer
the month that murders lovers
the month that suffocates and smothers
August is the Sunday of summer

I imagine you'll find someone better
someone who can actually hold your bad weather
instead of pulling out their umbrella

All i have are broken memories of June
laying in your back yard laughing up at the sun
You are the broken bits of stars
falling back towards the world
And i am just a broken girl
still falling for you

August is the Sunday of summer
I wish we could turn the hour glass over
I wish that i could hold you closer
But August is the Sunday of summer

Falling for you
is like stubbing your toe
or hitting your hip bone on the corner of a desk
it's the kind of pain that can only be healed
by yelling profanities and obscenities
while clutching at your wounds

Falling for you
is like getting to the bottom step
and thinking that there's one more
or waking up from a dream
in which you could fly
its the kind of false hope that
only makes it hurt more
when results aren't what
you always wished
they would be

I once said I was on cloud nine, but who's counting anyways? I would, but, you see, i have too many things to tell you at once, more than I can count on one or two or six thousand hands- even still the sun is doing a pretty good job of saying the words that they haven't made up for you yet. In my mind, the world would be happier if they stopped looking for heaven in the sky because the universe that exists where my fingertips stop and your skin starts is not clothed in all white and there are no pearly gates, but in the small fraction of the moment, nobody is dying. In some way, something taught us to tilt back our heads and stare at the starry expansion of the universe above us as though we were looking for the answers to everything we've been afraid to ask. If there was a scripture to make the veins under your skin sing praises a little louder, than i would write and rewrite the bible until my hands bled-

I wish i was capable of reaching into my lungs and pulling out all of the words I've managed to shove to the bottom as if they wouldn't reach up with their tiny little hands and strangle the life out of me the second they got the chance. I am a soul composed of love poems written for someone who doesn't care about them or me. I've managed to separate myself from reality but its gotten to the point where i cant tell the difference between a pair of blue eyes and the universe everyone speaks so fondly of. I've begun to think its just me. Maybe I've gone crazy and that's why my mind switches from one topic to the next never stopping in time to simply just take a breath. But if you really stop to think about it, that might just be okay, because you're never actually the same person you were 10 minutes ago. I read somewhere that in the amount of time that is takes a human to say "i love you" twenty thousand of our cells have already died and been replaced by new ones. So when people say that I've changed i cant help but laugh and agree because i know that I will never be the same person i was thirty seconds ago. It's a little weird to think that you have so many different selves forever pushing to the surface. In retrospect there are twenty million different ways i could describe myself to a person, but I'd prefer to say that i am nothing and just a smidgen of something at the same time.