The desire to be an artist,
To be a poet, to be immortal.
Knowing there's a land of words
If I can only reach the portal.
Drown in ****** and Wine
In a tub filled to the brim,
Letting France run down my throat,
Letting France run down my chin.
Words lay at the bottom
Of every bottle (or so they say)
Convincing us it's worth the *****
And the headache the next day.
Kiss goodbye the sound mind,
And enter insanity.
Welcome to the world of arts
With streets of vanity.
There stands Shakespeare on the balcony;
Kurt Cobain sits in the corner.
This place you are one
Where anywhere else you are a foreigner.
Here there is no day.
Here there is only night.
Here you sit making art
By the candle light.
But here there is no laughter,
For an artists knows no joy.
Instead here lies the dreams
Of all the dead girls and boys.
And here there is no rest,
For an artist knows no peace.
Here is the land of artists.
Is it everything you dreamed?

you said goodbye
effortlessly
you explained
with even breaths
and walked
with even steps
out of my door
and out of my life
i shakily said
"goodbye"
and i smiled
and pretended
that i
would be okay
but it's been five months
and it's like the sun
ceased to attend morning
or the ocean
refused to make waves
and the earth
forgot
how to roll into big beautiful hills
and mountains
and i
forgot
how to wake up and smile
or walk home by myself
i learned
to spend my weekends alone
and put my head down when i saw you
with them
and her
i was no longer them
or her
with you
no longer a tree in the words
but a ****
among pavement
and that was life
without you