I don't understand
the mechanics behind your forehead
Often I believe
that if I squint and crinkle the corners of my eyes
I can send beams through the wrinkles of your demise
that engraves itself above your confused brow.

Sometimes I think
that our creases look alike
But then I squint again
and notice the depth of mine
They fold over one another
and cover the other waves
keeping them hidden under
permanently engraved

Yours are shallow with age
and develop backwards
the Ben Button of faces
that with a whisper is always heard

So as my cracks get deeper
and my hair gets grayer
You will get younger with maturity
So as I squint and look for your machinary
I realize it is covered and protected
by your wise youth.

it doesn't have to be romantic
i'd get them myself if i could
just a big, bunch of flowers
it's very easily understood

because it would make me happy
it's a gift full of life
they don't have to mean much
only to be bright
beautiful, lively
and they only last a while
which makes their presence much sweeter
their time is limited,
but i enjoy them infinitely
and the life they breathe into my lungs

and it'd be nice to know that you're thinking of me, and you just wanted to buy me flowers

I see the tears in her eyes
The bruises on her skin
I can hear her cries
The pain she is in

I see the marks that form
That she tries to keep out of sight
Wearing her jackets when its warm
And her shades at night

I see the lies she tells
Her secrets she hide
Saying that she fell
That she never cried

I see the beauty in her eyes
I see how everyday abit of her soul dies
I see a beautiful black butterfly
And I know why she cries