Fall in love with my flaws, my imperfections
Fall in love with my scars, my freckles
Fall in love with my stories, my weirdness
And fall in love with my laugh,
My smile, my eyes,
And the way I say goodbye

Do you know what is worse
Than for someone to say your music skills are bad?

That your music is dead

Skills can be perfected with practice
But once the feeling is dead
It's dead.

To my ears they sound fine
They sound like it's full of emotion
But
My ears are faulty
Like how I always search for a minor key
To every major song first

When I compare the sounds
Of mine and others
I can clearly hear the contrast
It's scary
It's like my fingers cause decay
To the piano

I can play all the black keys
And my music would still be flatter
Than it

They say music comes from inside
I guess my insides reflect a dull aching flat echo
The emptiness rattles through my ribcage
My music is dead
And so am I

On the way
with your father

to the building site
to put in

new windows
to new buildings

you saw this girl
on the platform

of the railway station
standing there

blonde hair  
red mini skirt

white top
small handbag

on her shoulder
nice legs

you thought
right up

to her ***
(as the guys

would say)
taking a quick glance

before the train came
and took her

from your sight forever
and a day

she turned
and gazed up

the platform
to look for the train

you couldn’t see
the colour of eyes

too far to view
but her *******

seemed small
but compact

her hands folded
in front

unringed fingers
(in with a chance

you mused)
but you guessed

she was out
of your league

she’d not give you
a second gaze

not speak
to the likes of you

in your jeans
and work jacket

and well cropped hair
standing there

giving her
the ****** stare.

the girl was a mess
of sadness and hope and lingering thoughts
that ran through her veins, and poisoned her mind
until she found herself delirious,
looking for nothing and no one in particular

the boy was fallacious
clinically depressed
finding comfort in the things made by the hands of a middle class man
but he believed himself to be on the path
towards recovery

the boy found the girl by accident
and he wanted to love her so
but he did not,
he did not

and the girl agreed by accident
and she wanted to love him more
but she did not,
she could not

and in the process of attempting to build each other up
they tore each other down
and in the end,
all that lasted
were shreds of broken souls
and memories that were supposed to mean something

your soul, that night
had taken on the consistency of flesh,
the way it shivered under
my dry lips.
it began to leak,
moistening the atmosphere.
I was covered in this fluid
secreted from your suddenly
tangible soul.
it consumed me
I was intoxicated.
vision blurred while your soul continued
seeping it's godly elixir all over my body.

When it reverted back to its incorporeal form
and the sticky liquid soaking my lips and body dried to a crust,
we would never be separated from each other,
ever again.

I loved a boy before
Who had angry slashes on his wrist
And drank way too much
Way too often

Sometimes he would go
To all these buildings
And he would step on the ledges
With his arms wide open
And a manic gleam in his eyes

My best friend said
That I should run away
Get away from him
Because he is far too damaged
And far too scarred
She said he was broken

I said I loved him
She said she didn't get it

But the thing is
She didn't see him
Smiling gently at the fireworks
During the 4th of July

And she didn't see him
Tracing the words
On his favorite books
With a reverent kind of awe

And she didn't see him
Laugh when it started
To rain

I think what I'm trying to say here is
She didn't see the parts
Which made him so easy
So very easy to love

He didn't either