I hold these thoughts as I hold onto my infested pupils
my hands open like that of an infant in sleep
curved fingers, innocent and unexpecting of what is to come
the life
the street corners
the slum hearts
and the filthy
all the ends and all the starts
the loved ones who will depart
the torn bed sheets
and the opening of evil flowers
in the dirt of small drunken conversations
the murders and the beauty
of the old burnt down houses
I forget everything

only to be brought back to this state
feeling like a child.

you gave me your heart
and I asked you to dance with me
I will forever be who I always was
satisfied by the lonliest and everything thing else I have came to be

Im built now with sepia
my metal has rusted
with rain
and with time

come here oh small love
come here petite
pretty little mine

Dust travels in soft tones through your eyeslids
a face of remarkable joy
hidden in between my fragile fingers
lingering waiting for you to hold
come by those old feilds
where the rumors use to grow
and breathe with me
to help me forget everything I now know
in places where we smile
places I never go
I hide it all undreathe conversation
its good conversation though

I can tell you what it is, that feeling
but before, I must let you know I have dusty corners that need to be fixed from floor to ceiling

now in this room there is no use in stealing
its not gradual, look in my eyes in one second if i allow it, you will know the meaning

in my hands, beneath my palms there is a pounding
as water embraces the ocean, can you feel yourself drowning

trembling I hold it out of my chest
my hands are dripping in blood, and right now I cannot tell you the rest
here we don't use words, because there is no use for them

once they told me .....
but I refuse to believe that,
although I find trouble convincing myself - no they are lies
a lingering whisper that comes to me occasionally tells me otherwise

that little girl that lingered in the open spaces
with her nerves she traces
symbolic memoirs of something fading
I went downtown just to go downtown, no reason in particular
, days like those I cherish the beauty of solitude and city lights

after I got to the mountains I blushed to myself
when they came to say hi
this isn't were I belong
do I seem like an open book
I am an open book

but only the right eyes can read its invisible words
that were written with the happiness of few things
--
and the pain of many many things

behind my words there is a calling
read between the lines, can you feel yourself falling

slowly now I feel your wounds healing
I can show you what it is, that feeling

but before I must let you know, I have dusty corners that must be fixed from floor to ceiling.