When I leave I find the peace
in a world where I choose
where to be how to be
I have yet to settle.

When November comes around
I can only think of death.
The arms of faith and the past.  
One can fear the endless nights
but I've found that fearing the truth
of one that has lost its other fragment
is the more excruciating death.

When the only thing left is is looking at
the remaining pieces of a constant.
Something that will never change
But I tie it to things I can't get a grip on.

so tell me now, if it can only be
when the overwhelming feeling of the night
takes over.
With cold front,  a kiss from a stranger,  and wandering mind can end this bending of time inside of my womb.