It's late, your light of head has gotten you here so ride it out. Your sleight of hand is a quality I admire, in it I feel desire. Can you take me higher? Who do I have to **** for a feel, a flight? A love that's real and right. I got to close; my morose, my sorrow sent me home. But the air is bright with you still even hundreds of miles away.

It's dark and I am alone. The night all quiet and calm soothes my longings. Have you ever preferred the moon to the sun in the pallid ****** starlight? I don't need your empty threats, your "love". I'll rise above with my shot glass & rough draft. Put your hand on my chest and feel my lungs rust.

All at once in an exhale my soul lingers in front of me. Running my fingertips along it's smooth smoky existence, as it twists and twirls the world around me; I am reminded of a day years ago when we held each other close. It was the pillow puff clouds, the silky soft sky which you and I surrendered upon; and laid lazily the days away. My fingertips were flashing back is all... nothing of importance.

At any rate, I am still here, after a lucky number 7th run in with death. My pen never left. White streaks of light sing and dance across the night sky for me. My hair is trimmed and my face is clean. I start a new life tomorrow and it is miraculous. I'll wake alone in the morning to show my resolve. Your face to be erased from the back of my eyelids without a trace; when the picture frame shatters cold as ice from my balcony heights. I smile at the first stranger I see.