Random dates.
Random times.
Useless words.
Stupid rhymes.

It's not cool being
less than you can be
so I urge you--
urge you--
to be happy.

Because there was a man
who was a clown
and he danced for the children
as they were being lead
to the gas chamber.
And it was 1943.
And it was
**** Controlled Germany.

The clown wept,
each time the lever
was pulled
and when the children
became silent.

To stop crying,
he told himself
that existence
is just random dates
and random times.
There was no meaning
in reason
and no order
in lines.

All he could do
was all he did know,
and that was to give
happiness
before they'd go.

We will forget the times I breathed your name into the sky
and made it rain.

The thought of you will become a ***** verse in the anthology of
apologies I figured in my sleep.

I will forget the touch of your skin
in the way you forgot how to love.

and suddenly it was as though
all of those fleeting moments
that I had been grasping for,
all of those feelings
slipping through my periphery,
all of those things
that I could never quite
taste-
they came rushing into me.

And suddenly, I understood
what it was that was escaping me.
I knew exactly what it felt like
to see my heart beating
in someone else's body;
I heard my thoughts
spilling across your lovely lips
and saw my spark
reflected in your eyes,
speaking languages
that I wanted to learn.

I spilled forth all of the rusted,
mildewed things that were hiding
in the recesses of my memories,
and I held them up to the light
and let you touch them,
turn them over and hold them.

And that old feeling
in the helplessness of
my naked soul
was replaced with
a lucid sense of weightlessness.

I found you, and I thought
that you might be able
to know me,
to really know me,
without turning away.