My soul
Not something to come and go with the wind
It's not something to be thrown on the tile floor
When it's been in a losing fight
So I'll sit here
And pretend that you know now
When I can't even tell you the correct word
You expect to sip lava through a straw
To fly while hiding in a cave
To know the utmost reach of my alignment to the stars
I cannot be tamed

I am burdened as a soul
With no flight path
No way out
No way in
The meaningless operation of my souls path
Was not really meant for earth
And how could I?
How could I really?
How could I die here?
I wasn't born here
My soul
Intangible

No one knows anyone anymore
Anyone knows
No one wants to know
Has life always been like that?
Funny now
That I should have known
That even within these feelings
They were but a stranger
Even to you

No, I'm fine
I can put it in a book one day
Burning spiral of a memoir
Crack the spine of the book
Leave it out in the rain
Ash my cigarettes on the pages
Burn holes through the red line
Drip coffee to the bottom
I can do this
I'm fine
God, I'm fine
I'll be okay
And in the time it takes to type this,
We can sit on the balcony while it rains
And I will have another cigarette
We can laugh
I will cry for myself
I will sit for a while
Missing her
Missing the lights
Not missing a thing
You never do brother
Our blood is so thick
Can you still smile into my eyes?

She left me
Leaving me
She saved me
Saving me
Killed her
Her death awoke me
Awaking me
I left her

I'm passing you
In the left lane
Moving slow
Molasses in winter
Charming beauty seen right through
Kissing booth in Vegas
Peyote sun in Jersey
And things change
People expire
The hurt consumes you
Remember when you were a child
When things lasted forever

Lay still
Intention to ****
Lies and ***
Taking pills like tex-mex
Your love is so cruel
Your arms held me like a fool
Dungeons dark and deep
My body lays and my eyes weep
I was ultimately worthless to keep
Goodnight my dear
Nothing but my mind to fear
So when you feel a little bit colder
I strongly suggest to look over your shoulder
With the blood on your hands you'll need a mop
And now this is where I think the poem should stop