It was late in the day
The sun was busy hiding
Behind the towering city
He hid in the shadows

He stopped right next to me
We each nodded to the other
As if we had been nodding
To each other for years

We smoked our cigarettes
Watching the people walk by
We nodded as they past
That’s when I realized
I might be invisible too

The whispers I hear in the light
Are worse than the ones I hear at night.
Panic takes over and I can't breathe.
Anger continues to build as my blood seethes.
Friends are my enemies and enemies are my friend.
I realize this as over my knees I bend.
I may not be a saint but they aren't martyrs.
Behing my back or in front of my face.
They constantly make me hate this place.
Constant glares and ***** looks
Making my temper boil and cooks
Like the meat on the grill
And then make it freeze and stand still.
Wishing my temper were my heart
Killing me is like a work of art.
The whispers grow and grow and grow
But I know they will never leave and go.

Love is universal migraine,
A bright stain on the vision
Blotting out reason.

Symptoms of true love
Are leanness, jealousy,
Laggard dawns;

Are omens and nightmares -
Listening for a knock,
Waiting for a sign:

For a touch of her fingers
In a darkened room,
For a searching look.

Take courage, lover!
Could you endure such pain
At any hand but hers?

I didn't know I loved you then.
Having pushed the idea from my head,
I was startled the other night
As I muttered the words

Not to anyone in particular
just a statement, stumbling from my lips
I didn't know, how I do now--

How you feel closer
Each time I hold your hand on my heart
Feeling your breath follow mine

And though the time I will love you will be short,
You leaving,
It is nice.
Knowing that I loved you
Knowing that you loved me

We saw shooting stars
outside the kitchen window.
You put the knife down
and we ran out to the porch.
The stars fell in swarms
as you sat down on the stairs.
I was overcome
by the beauty of your eyes
as they caught the stars
and you said to make a wish.
You shut your eyelids,
trusted the world with mutters.
Back in our bedroom
you asked "what did you wish for"
Your eyes still shining
and your head pressed against mine
I looked and I smiled
and I said "nothing".

Another numbered summer, over
plans packed away
watches wound
boots back on pavements
lawns forgotten

And the sun apologises
as it rises too late
and the cackling wind
reclaims his domain with a flourish.

Have a good day, boys -
see you at teatime.

Why is it that we never truly appreciate
The value of someone until it is too late?
A hundred flowers on a wintry grave site
A torrent of tears cried at midnight
Groanings of morning dawn prayers' sighs
Added together cannot ever realize
A past that has passed

Alas, that weighing debt
Of unreconciled regret, becomes a treasure
From which we measure
The relationships of today, tomorrow
Maturing into overflowing blessings
From that was empty sorrow

Why are you crying? I haven't gone that far.
I'm the leaves blowing down the road, as you're driving in the car.
Why are you crying? It may feel bad. 
But feel the rays of the sun, and you won't feel so sad.
Why are you crying? I'm with you where ever you go.
You may not see me but I'm the sparkles on the snow.
So why are you crying, when I'm still here?
I might not be able to hold your hand now or wipe every tear.
But there's no need to worry, though were apart.
Why are you crying? I'm right there, always, inside your heart.

***.
Blood.
Teeth.
Irony.
Jesus.
Lifelessness.
The End.

The beginning.

The dead.
The complacent.
The clueless.
The finished.

The one's who don't know.
The one's who don't care.
The one's who never thought to know.

The stupid.
The selfish.
The stupidly brave.
The suicidally comfortable.

The one's who gave up on meaning.

The searching.
The tired.
The sick.
The joyless.

The one's who have accepted that joy is never permanent.
The one's who know grief and loss is the only constant.
The one's who know emotion is only a subjective thing.
The one's who keep living despite the horror.
The one's who end their lives to rid themselves of the horror.
The one's who know the end of their lives doesn't necessarily mean the end of the horror.
The one's who live knowing all things keep going, no matter if they're alive to feel it to the full extent.

The horror never dies.