Without a grasp on reality
I stumble through your norms
Breezing through your fantasies
and feeding your indignant storms
You breathe and break my bones
With your heavy expectations
You're wrong

Yet, maybe my mind has slipped
and fallen beneath the waves
They finally came to shake my bones
I rode them out with no delay
Now, up is down and down is left
The world is lonely and ugly like
this bitter, unappreciative song

The smile on my face is guilty
Betraying the smile you planted once before
When I was your rose bloom, your paint, your drug
Your inspiration
I scramble to find traces of you among my belongings
Words that coat my heart, hauntingly
Color combinations that stole the beat
Symphonies of wonderful from the mind I adored,
Adore,
Adorn
Dolor in my chest, begging for another verse
You hold my beauty in your heart
Play me just once more
Release the notes my heart sang to yours
Listen
Fire has been waiting under my sheets
And you never came

Caressing the abandonment with scarred hands,
She waits for the touch of compassion
Once, those hands could speak clearly
Blinded; they wander fields of skin
Patiently waiting for the pulse to ensue
Death sliding out of the tips,
They grew
Death pouring out of her skull,
It grew
Grew to Passion's favorite sanctuary
To conceal abandonment's face

Caught up in a downpour
A world crumbles (I called her my own)
Her tears drench me
Leave me cold, shaken, wrong
My heart stalls, feet continue
With karma on my tongue
What have I become?
Detritus of your elegance
Collecting in the rain
Soon, I will accumulate
Into strength

I want to turn you all off
Hide you in my closet where the world can't see
You will belong to me
Your habits gone, your hope, your attachments
Toy soldiers marching for me in the privacy
Of my closet
I can line you all up from my ******* to my nub
Tell you to march on the rolling hills
And I'll absorb your dedication through my skin
I would put you all to rest at night
On my towers of blankets I store
And kiss you each good morning
My loves, that love me, that I love
And we'd all love each other
Just outside the closet, on my bed

Oh, my love, you will never go far
Swimming in your father's thigh
We all know of your origins
Your father, in all his might,
Is your father after all

Does that cure your fear of being deemed
unworthy?
When any mirror could reflect your divinity in
beauty
You indulge in your grapes
And swallow ideas of bitter revenge

Dig your mother up for one last kiss
Her lips, struck by your father's wonder,
long to teach you the world
Yet you starve, begging for his glory
You will find that beneath the thunder
humanity still strikes him the same

Entrance

Here you are, once again
Almost worthy of a fanfare
Living life in the pupils of my eyes
I watch you intently
Mystery incarnate in beautiful living flesh
Why must you always

Exit?

Who are these people
with rags hanging from their brows
and frowns upon their shins?
These people that crowd around
holding each other's hands and
trying to stand?
Who are these people?
and why must they cry..
dripping sadness in to the streets
Sending bitter hatred in to the sky
and longing
the painful, empty longing...

Hard to the touch,
he drips poverty from his rags and it
oozes down
to scurry across the pavement and
touch my toes to remind me of
my broken shoes

Who are we?

Where tears would have met, the silence falls
Crashing into explosions of empty
Where words would have ricocheted, violins play
The cello enters where you would have departed
Where decibels would have pierced my ears
My heartbeat pounds the only sounds
Where broken pieces should have flown
Tension lingers- leaving me bound to the bed
My eyes will not open
My heart will not hush
My thoughts will not calm
Until you sing
Sing violence into our walls
Sing forgiveness into my lips
Sing anything at all

I forgot about their records of this
They took the same notes
Measured the same walls with their hearts
Choked on dimples and legs and children
Yet their blood filled wine glasses
While she fills aluminum
(This girl, with her Styrofoam dreams
and flies in her head)
Their colored dream makers never abandoned them
For more currency and class
Leaving them with moths instead of sleep
Their ovens stayed warm and their
scribbles walked to the stage
While her scribbles are replaced with pitchers,
poisons and bedsheets, seeds and disappointment
What glory would such a destitute cloud dweller have?
One would not deserve such release...