i sit on the bed
naked
eating spaghetti

Apologies changed with the weather,
and trees split in half;

this would never get better,
there would be no change,

despite how much
the movies promised.

Our “one day” mantra
had started running dry,

like an alcoholic bruising flesh
in his foreseen relapse,

and a ******’s inevitable conclusion
of a vein collapsed;

and still the leaves flew,
all because of you,

because you just lose,
and because I just use,

and because we never grew;
we just flew.

i don't want to admit that it hurts
because the guilt inside will burn
and i can't admit that it hurts
because things will only get worse.

If I shut my eyes,
The world comes to life.
Stars burn brighter,
and children smile broader.

If I shut my eyes, and really try,
The skies turn back to blue,
And the clouds are no longer filled with rain.
Sometimes even people laugh.

If I shut my eyes, and really try, and wish with all my might,
The bombs don't go off,
and the people get along,
and best of all, no one wants to or has to die.

If I shut my eyes, and really try, and wish with all my might, and pray to god,
Maybe, the sun will try to shine.
Maybe to world won't seem so dark.
Maybe the world could be better.

If we all just closed our eyes,
And really tried,
and wished with all our might,
and prayed to god.

Things might actually end up right?

"Seriously man,
green cat eyes.
I kept losing myself
in them.
I don't know."

But what is it.

"Like when they look,
they really look.
You get me?
Think a sun's ray
in a dusty room,
like that,
but green."

There's more.
How can I put it.

"And her nose,
man it's the smallest
cutest nose I've ever seen.
And you don't doubt it,
because she's probably
never even lied.
How could she?
What with those green eyes."

Beauty is truth etc. Well it's not.
And this pub ain't no place
for pottery.

"And her hair man, her hair.
It's so curly, all tangled up
and wild. But my fingers
run through smooth.
And she purrs man."

I want to rub her belly.

"Ahhhh I just..
I just.. I don't know really.
I just can't get away from
those green eyes."

Such empty words.
Just the skeletal sounds.
I'm missing that sun and moon
and bluest blue. But I think he understands.
We all do when someone is really trying
but just can't,
when expression moves inward.

"I don't know man."

Does
a word
die
when
it has been said
Or
does it
live through
in
another's head?

Are you still going to love me
If I tell you all about the demons I keep
All the monsters in my head
Caged in insanity

Are you still going to love me
If I tell you I bang my head against walls
As everything haunts my mind every night;
Bleed, as I wound my head in fright

Are you still going to love me
In all the wrecked images imprinted on my head
All the ghosts in my bed
lulling whispers of noise in my sleep

My mind becomes evil
When the world folds in darkness
But I am the creator of my own hell
Alas, to no one I cannot tell.

It was cold
the night she left us.
Her body ached in pain
as she held the gun.
Her thoughts were dark, dreary, morbid.
We never thought to ask
why she didn't smile anymore.
Her eyes were like a shut down motel,
dark and closed and creepy.
Her teeth were yellow,
for only they could stop the words from spilling out.
She had stopped eating,
she left for lunch.
But we just thought she had met someone.
And we were right,
in one way or another.
She had met a man,
a man that reeks of decay, and death, and sorrow.
He only wears black, even on the hottest days.
His face is made of bone, and nothing but.
We will all meet this man at one point,
he is Death.
How we meet him, well that is up to him.
For her, he chose sooner rather than later.
I wonder if she regrets it,
I hope she doesn't.
She deserves to be happy now.
I wonder what caused her to do it.
Was it Bill, who played practical jokes?
No, she loved those.
Was it Ted, who hit on her everyday?
No, he apologized.
Was it me? Did I do it?
Yes. I must've. I had to.
Why else would she do it?
Maybe it was when I tripped her.
But she knew that was on accident.
Maybe it was when I kissed her.
But she kissed me back.
Maybe, just maybe, it was because I never told her I loved her.
Maybe. That word will be the death of me.
As it was of her.

Was it the way you waved hello in the morning
that made me want to hold you?
Was it the way you held me
that made me want to kiss you?
Was it the way you kissed me
that made me want to love you?
Was it the way you loved me
that made me want to marry you?
Was it the way you married me
that made me want to have your children?
Was it the way we had children
that made me want to grow old together?
Was it the way we grew old together
that made me want to die together?
Was it the way you died before me
that made me want to go back?
Was it the way I couldn't go back
that made me want to pull the trigger?
Was it the way I didn't
that made me wish I did?
Was it the way they put me in that place
that made me want out?
Was it the way I tried to swim across the river
that killed me?
Was it the way I died
that made me so happy?
Was it the fact that I saw you, in all your shining glory,
with your long beard, and your top hat, and those shoes I got you for the 67th birthday
that made me realize it was all worth it?
All of the crying, and sorrow, and laughing, and darkness, and beauty,
was all worth it.
Because it lead me back to the way you waved at me
every morning that made me want to hold you.