Why do people feel compelled,
When days go so dark,
To talk of the hard issues,
That dwell in their heart?

We all have a voice,
Who whispers inside,
Honest words it presents,
A voice we can't hide.

"Work through your troubles..."
"Let it all out..."
Yet no one else was ever there,
When you broke with a shout.

They don't know the details.
All of that moments, nuance.
Only you... and that voice...
Can answer troubles taunts.

Talk if you need too,
Discuss if it helps.

But me and my voice?

We'll talk a while...
To no one else...

Again sleeps become,
A coveted prize.
Sheltered away,
From my heavy eyes.

Reluctant walls block,
The short treck to my bed.
And a quiet voice urges me,
"Don't go" in my head.

So I wait just a single,
Rooms distance away.
Relying on nature as sleeps saviour,
Regardless of what the voices say.

There's a magical method,
In beckoning a smile.
Like when addressing a frightened,
And lonely, sweet child.

Cast away fear,
Make ourselves seem smaller.
Remove all the threats,
Show a little, they're taller.

In any situation,
Where joyous eyes become rare.
This mystical process,
Seems to come out of nowhere.

I don't recall being taught,
How to make such an address.
In lifting a heart,
While calming it's stress.

The greatest vacation,
Is waking up,
Without a heavy heart,
Or a sad soul...

When were your lyrics written into mine
And why...
Do they sound so good?

Like rain pattering off rooftops,
Or the powerful silence when the sun rises and you hear faintly
Birds singing.

You match me so well
That I finally realized
My souls song was never complete
Before you.

Our songwriter
Finally had made their masterpiece
And our notes will dance together
Making perfect harmony.

Our song will play on
For eternity
Until our hearts
Just decide to stop beating.

There's no path harder,
Than taking a wrong turn,
And walking,
Where you don't belong.

Every step is a labor,
Each sight is nightmarish,
And you scream,
Inside to turn around.

But them's is the breaks.
Behind is reflection,
Of a path,
Which you can never return.

So all that's left is hoping,
Through blurry eyed madness,
That light in you,
Won't cease to burn.

I wish i could say words don't have edges...
I wish I could say they're full of fluff.

But words all my life have been serrated.
And my skin, was never quite thick enough.

The old adage about sticks and stones,
Never really meant much to me.

Because words have never felt very blunted.
And from them, I so often bleed.

If I didn't think they held true intention,
Maybe, just maybe I'd get along.

But it seems after years of torture by stereo,
A world of words, is a place I don't belong...