Oh Mr Tibbs, all dressed up in your tuxedo.
Where are you off to?
Can I come with you?
I see you waiting, in my window.
You pretend not to see me... But I know you do.

Sometimes you look at me, I don't know what's going on in your head.
Sometimes the way that you look at me, makes me feel you want me dead.

I know you love me, sometimes it hurt me.
Sometimes you hurt me, when you love me.
I know you cause me pain... but not intentionally.
I'll always love you, even if it hurts me.

Oh Mr Tibbs you always dance when you're happy.
But when I talk to you, you turn you're back on me.
Oh look at your grey hair, you're getting older.
The thought of loosing you makes me feel colder.

Sometimes you look at me, I don't know what's going on in your head.
Sometimes the way that you look at me, makes me feel you want me dead.

I know you love me, sometimes it hurt me.
Sometimes you hurt me, when you love me.
I know you cause me pain... but not intentionally.
I'll always love you, even if it hurts me.

You wake me at 5 in the morning, scratching at my bedroom door.
But when I give in I can't sleep, 'cause you curl up on me, sleep, and snore.

I know you love me, sometimes it hurt me.
Sometimes you hurt me, when you love me.
I know you cause me pain... but not intentionally.
I'll always love you, even if it hurts me.

We laughed so hard and heartedly
till our bodies contorted in the aftershock of vacant humour
I look at your dead pan expression
and the volcano erupts again.

Everyday waiting for me at the end of the road.
Your glasses cannot hide the smiles that aged your eyes.
But they still hold their innocence; an oversized toddler, excited by the prospect of everything and nothing.
It's contagious, amazing, overwhelming but never exhausting.
And to think I miss you even from across the room.
Your voice warm peanut butter tones, comforting; a pillow to the ears, inviting me in to everything you have to say.
It's all interesting to me.  
Even the mundane ramblings that fall clumsily from your mouth, and your stupid big face making me laugh so hard my cheeks hurts.
My mind toys with the idea of not knowing you and the thought, no matter how fleeting is excruciating.
**So what are you waiting for... kiss me you idiot.

I searched into your eyes but you weren't there.
I stared straight down at my hands.
The black diamond which I adored, which was so unique, so special, had lost its lustre.
Just dead glass.
I use to think it was a symbolic reference that u 'got me'.
But now I just feel stupid and naive.
The symbol that bound us together was just another possession
And what use have I of possessions?
A word hasn't passed between us in weeks.
Finally you break the silence and mutter some sentance.
You glance across the room
But I'm not there.

Last night I showed you my hiding place,
my mountain top, my Shangri La.

Then you told all your friends about it.
Now they gather there, drunk impostors.
They think it's their own personal Mecca.

A *** scented girl turns to me;
'Wow it's so beautiful up here'

'It was' I mumble under my breath.

Love is a destructive game.
Cupid's playing with missiles again
But this time he's going nuclear.
Itchy trigger finger vendetta
Left a you shaped hole.

Use me
Soothe me
Unravel me
Entwine me in the Devine
Twisting away time.
Burning hands
Chaste embrace
Crooked smile reveals your fall.
The things you say behind your eyes.
Wrap your thoughts around my thighs.

Loves such a heavy word.
The weight of a trillion togg duvet pinning me to the floor, softly crushing down on my chest.
Smothered
I'm done for.

It would be easy to love you.

Like breathing
second nature
without consideration.

But you overwhelm me.

Your words etched beautifully across the page,
while mine fall clumsily between the lines.
And your fingers touch notes so eloquently,
While mine fumble for a forgotten chord.

It would be easy to love you,
*But that's not what you have in mind.

The ride up there was worth a stare
from my train window
Greens and golds and purple glows
whooshing to and fro.

We are not meant for this world you and I.
We do not thrive on making money
And dreary nine till fives
We are made of passion, dreams, vision and fight.
Sun soaked mornings and endless nights.
We're made of photographs and art  
Words that touch our heart.
Melodies and beats
The people we meet on the streets.
The memories, the travelled miles
The conversations that made us smile.
Families, friends and passers by
The fleeting fragments that made us cry.
We are us.
Never pretending to be otherwise.