keeping things bottled up,
i hold back the urge to take a shot and let it out

these momentary lapses,
will be so foreign five years from now

so i keep telling myself silly things,
like, "all things come & go"

They say that my only way
to be home for Christmas
is in my dreams.
If that's true, my
reality must be in
a far away land.

Who knew Boston was
so mysterious...

How long then, must I walk
to either reach the
land of sleep or
wake up to a reality
that includes a home?

inside lines of me.
outside lines,
it seems to be
that you, oh, you
never cease to let me go.
let me dream inside a dream
of drifting,
of unimaginable,
uninhibited existence.
never let me be.
i live behind closed eyes
and never get to be.

Your force slams me against the wall.
Powerless as your strength steals my stability.
Wave after wave.
Breathless but breathing.
Salt from the water falling from my eyes
touches my lips as I try to stop the tide
from crashing upon my eyelids.
Down to my knees, I’m now begging for my composure
to remain,
but my resolve is like the pebbles lying there.
Soft from the water coming in, washing away
their faith.
All that is left is the sand you walk on.
Tiny grains of a person that used to be
and pieces of what is shown to the
world.