The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today.

We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes.
The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed.

As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene?
simply erased with the sunsets demise?
No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos
and a found hello to you.

Mine own scars are fingertips
gouged into the sand and faded
but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide.
A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones.
You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello.

In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night.
Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine .

How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear?
Does it still ring ever so true?

The bell rings true whispering distant voices
Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers
We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices
The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin.
Honestly? Where does our downfall begin?

Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more .
In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see.

half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain.

Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times

The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before.

The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table.
A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye.
And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting.

The page forever bleeds.

Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor
Bleeding ink into cracks
that will forever more
hide the spirit of our souls.

Join me, come share a drink
Of times gone in a blink
Here we sit, lost in thought
Never have we found what we sought

Pour us another, drown this sorrow
All could be better, come tomorrow
They call me the Gonzo poet
Ready, now and always, to show it
I will be here, forever with my friends
Caring for them, because caring never ends
Killing time before time deserts me

Relishing those close, who set me free
Of all the days that have gone past
Broken bottles are always cast
Be your health always bless you
In all the things that you do
Never fear, the Gonzo poet is here
So come and join me now, in another beer

I gave him my favourite book
And laughed it off as expanding his "cultural horizons."
I showed him my favourite movie
And shrugged it off as "chillin' and killin' time."
I sent him all my favourite music
But could not write it off as anything
Other than pure devotion.
I want to scoop out
His eyes that read my most beloved works,
His unworthy ears that heard the tunes of my heart,
His awful, ugly smile that enjoyed my dearest film.
And so now here I sit,
With his organs lying before me,
Looking lovelier than on him;
And still, I am not at peace.
The rumbling in my heart, and the twitching in my fingers
Has not stopped.

I dive for his heart;
I will sew it on my sleeve.