The desire to be an artist,
To be a poet, to be immortal.
Knowing there's a land of words
If I can only reach the portal.
Drown in ****** and Wine
In a tub filled to the brim,
Letting France run down my throat,
Letting France run down my chin.
Words lay at the bottom
Of every bottle (or so they say)
Convincing us it's worth the *****
And the headache the next day.
Kiss goodbye the sound mind,
And enter insanity.
Welcome to the world of arts
With streets of vanity.
There stands Shakespeare on the balcony;
Kurt Cobain sits in the corner.
This place you are one
Where anywhere else you are a foreigner.
Here there is no day.
Here there is only night.
Here you sit making art
By the candle light.
But here there is no laughter,
For an artists knows no joy.
Instead here lies the dreams
Of all the dead girls and boys.
And here there is no rest,
For an artist knows no peace.
Here is the land of artists.
Is it everything you dreamed?

If rightly tuneful bards decide,
  If it be fix’d in Love’s decrees,
That Beauty ought not to be tried
  But by its native power to please,
Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell—
What fair can Amoret excel?

Behold that bright unsullied smile,
  And wisdom speaking in her mien:
Yet—she so artless all the while,
  So little studious to be seen—
We naught but instant gladness know,
Nor think to whom the gift we owe.

But neither music, nor the powers
  Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer,
Add half the sunshine to the hours,
  Or make life’s prospect half so clear,
As memory brings it to the eye
From scenes where Amoret was by.

This, sure, is Beauty’s happiest part;
  This gives the most unbounded sway;
This shall enchant the subject heart
  When rose and lily fade away;
And she be still, in spite of Time,
Sweet Amoret in all her prime.

How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
Everything bare,
Everything cold and merciless,
And even the beloved, clear
Stars look desolately down,
Since I learned in my heart that
Love can die.

the last time I kissed you
I had just brushed my teeth before bed
and you were drinking orange juice

and all the time later I would remember
all the bitterness and softness
and my utter disgust

Sometimes I
                            p
                                o                                      all that I have, all of my energy
                                  u                            & time, maybe even some of my love    
                                    r                       
                                      ­                   into
                             **nothing