the decrease in morale seemed to linger
across the keys as i dragged my fingers
to the beat of something simple in mind,
simple in length, and simple in rhyme
but the reasons i'd continued to continue on
were never meant to be played as a pawn
in the constant fight i'd been having alone
with the uncertainty ringing in my phone
where i heard them utter the news i'd heard
and hearing this knew that i'd gotten word
of what i was to be knowing for some time
and now that i was knowing was too sublime
as the filtration of this seems to fall off
and all i can seem to do is hold in this cough
to keep from releasing my sickness to you
and keep you safe from what's keeping me blue.
safe from harm's way.

in the entire existence you've been
there's been something you've cleaned
and where you're wanting a renewed dream
of what it is you want yourself to see
but you just won't open your eyes.
there's some dust still covering it all
and you're still waiting to fall
from how far it is you've called
down the line and up the hall
for them to know you were coming.
and now it's been said
there's nothing left in your head
but the simplicity of your dread
from the beating in your bed
that you'd watched outside of yourself.

knowing the simple implementation
of all this ****** frustration
into some kind of mechanization
into the institutionalization
of something you'd call psychoanalysis.
i've analyzed
i've criticized
i've materialized
i've realized
that we're all waiting for our final grade.

caught up in the anxiousness following me
around the aisles of this store
and here i stand, typing and writing,
finding this all to be just another bore
into the wooden frame i'm supporting my soul with.

the coldness left in my room,
after you'd left,
leaves me wanting your warmth,
your beauty,
your breath on my neck.
the coldness left in my heart,
before you,
warms itself from your words,
your soul,
your eyes on my lips.
the coldness left throughout my house,
constantly dreary,
warms itself from your presence,
your laughter,
your hair, tangled in my fingers.

and you'd done it all with nothing,
but the simplicity of kindness and the complexity of love.
there's so much here, i feel it, but i still don't know what.
words haven't described such things;
shakespeare's sonnets won't even make sense of it.

and you'd made me almost speechless,
but the words always have found their ways through.
there's so much i want to say; still figuring it out.
give me time, my darling, i plead;
there's so much more that i'll be sure to soon admit.
                                                                                      mostly of the true beauty within you

the warmth i feel now,
after you came,
leaves me wanting your touch,
your kiss,
your love to be all mine.

there's never been enough time
for me to ever really think
about the ways they see me
when i tell them about my shrink.
when i tell them about my fears.
when i tell them about my occupation,
my situation,
my predication,
my annihilation,
and my contemplation
of the simplest things left around me.

you walked in
then walked out
turned yourself around
and wondered
what to think about.

then thought again
about what to say
as you turned back around
decided to go home
and just walked away.

left me here standing
with my hand in my jeans
pulling at the loose strings
hanging in my pocket
and what this all means.

now i've got the idea
that you're unsure yourself
about what it is we're doing
where we'll end up
and if we'll need any help
deciding what this love is.