None of this seems quite
                                    right.
I heard it starts around this age
I might just have lost it.

There are no stars in the city.
The street lights are bright like the bright lights illuminating the night as the steady stream of cars pass by.
Steady like dreams.
Dreams are the wishes cast from the deepest window of your soul left ajar,
The kind of wish one would never dream to admit upon a star.

please
let things be beautiful
just this once
I do not ask for much
just the flowers
in the garden
and the salt
in the sea
please
oh, please
let things be beautiful.

Do you know what my bones are wrapped in?
Uncertainty.
And I am waiting today,
uncertain as always,
if you will come or  not,
and I hope you will,
but I know if you do,
you will not have much fun.
I will wrap a blanket around my head, hiding my face from any light,
and you will wrap your arms around me and I might even shrug you away.
Today
there is no point.
This morning has made me realize that people will always keep secrets
and there are no permanent connections anywhere
and the factors that make you LOSE
are much greater
than anything that makes you win.
Dreams don't have to come true,
and people will settle
for a life they never wanted,
but they'll pretend it is good
that they are happy,
when they are working for nothing but to die.
I'll admit, sometimes I wouldn't mind dying.
Only because I've already had my 10 seconds of fame in this village,
and ladies reassure me that that was it. That is all there is room for.
That is all I am good for.
My dreams are the static of a tv set.
waver
waver
gone.
I am empty today,
and it is so silly that my biggest concern
was not having grabbed your **** yet.

God, life can be ******* pathetic.

When I died
once and twice
I never saw or met God
or anybody else
I never met the Devil himself
I never had a flashback
or saw the light
all I have known and felt
was a complete peace

I'm one pack of cigarettes away from being broke.
Color me broke.
Color me smoking.

Search. Search. Seek. Seek.
Cold. Cold. Clear. Clear.
Sorrow. Sorrow. Pain. Pain.
Hot flashes. Sudden chills.
Stabbing pains. Slow agonies.
I can find no peace.
I drink two cups, then three bowls,
Of clear wine until I can’t
Stand up against a gust of wind.
Wild geese fly over head.
They wrench my heart.
They were our friends in the old days.
Gold chrysanthemums litter
The ground, pile up, faded, dead.
This season I could not bear
To pick them. All alone,
Motionless at my window,
I watch the gathering shadows.
Fine rain sifts through the wu-t’ung trees,
And drips, drop by drop, through the dusk.
What can I ever do now?
How can I drive off this word —
Hopelessness?