the wind rustled through the leaves
the birds didn’t make a sound
we just stood there quietly
looking down upon the ground

and we didn’t know ‘twas you
only one of us perceived
and they still don’t know ‘twas you
still alone, only me

i take back all the things i said
though i know you don’t mind
i sit here all alone in my head
only in time

as i walk upon the earth
with each footstep on the ground
i look back at you and say,
“now i never will be found”

but your heart was always calm
and your soul was always pure
now you look at me and say [with loving eyes]
“now you never can be sure”

i take back all the lies in my head
though i know you are here
i still risked all the words that i’ve said
oh, never fear

and i feel like a house that’s burned down
one nobody wants to buy
but i feel that your heart’s in my hands
only in time

and your soul still speaks
words that can’t be repeated
for suffers consequence
or our hearts will be mistreated
and my lies were told
and our time has been competed
but i’m no longer cold
and i love you, i love you

i take back all the things i said
though i know you’re still here
i’m no longer alone in my head
i never fear

now the wind rustles through the leaves
and the birds don’t make a sound
we just touch, now, quietly
with our feet upon the ground

Favourite nerve-wracking days
meet carefully sweet irony

Journeying continues,
insinuating ignored answers

Porcelain begs,
hoping painful exists

Difficult burning overcame
caring tender memories

Doctor specifically outlines:
indefinite,
obscure,
bland reality
Endlessly changing predictions
force desperate safe haven
nothing helps

Miss doll lovely,
perfect,
shaken,
abandoned,
sick,
dead

Wishing stops,
scarring trust,
tearing irrelevant curiosity,
keeping nightmares closer
Month,
month,
month,
month
Repetitively
wrecked voice
struggling situations

Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
secure,
particular,
neutral,
enveloped,
unglued

Spontane­ity analyzes fortifications
forcing unprotected souls
overtaken faces
wearing hurtful aspect
Month,
month,
month,
month

Intravenous consequences
silver surgeon
irrelevant grace upon
her heavy neckline
medicated extremities

Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
designed unconscious,
forced,
weary,
sober,
sedated

Friends opinions
especial curiosity
suppressed predictions believed
feet solely on Reason Street
accompanied by Pushing Negativity
nothing’s changing
Second,
Minute,
Day,
Week,
Month,
month,
month,
month

O­h,
Miss doll lovely,
evident,
profound,
bare,
suffering,
dying

Loneliness laughs
limits reached
heartbreaks stated
emotional crashing
déjà vu stays,
a wishful memory
deceit captivates each:
Second,
Minute,
Hour,
Day,
Week,
Month,
month,
month,
month­

A curve catatonic
victim tattered at gates of steel
guarded
grasping winter
greatest attempts trying to understand

Nurse,
feet, ankles, organized steps
communications
understandings
Fractured faces cry
broken tears
honest weak calling
home hurts
useless moonlight lips
Month,
month,
month,
month,
Year,
year,
year,
year

Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
not waking,
haunting,
insane,
blackened,
cold

Awake.
That feeling can mean many different things.
Sober.
Sick.
Irrelevant.



Alone.
Empty.
The feelings sometimes accompanied with awake.
An emotionally painful sort of awake, where waking up at all is torture.
The sort where you go about your business, and continue playing underdog to the system.
Where you fabricate the surface of your existence to please the wants and needs of others.
The outside.
The part of you that everyone interprets.
The part that you fight so hard for, but never really matters in the end.
The human distinction.

Handsome, wonderful, caring, and kind
A man like my grandfather is hard to find

A life fully lived and a heart full of love
He left us peacefully on the wings of a dove

His smile always gleaming, his soul always pure
Everyone wished maybe there was a cure

His days were numbered; he took them one at a time
But slowly the disease enveloped his mind

Unable to speak and unable to breathe
We awoke to find him in his eternal sleep


*In loving memory of Allen Mackey
(1948 - 2008)

Can I call you the doctor,
my sleeping pill for every night,
from now on?
Can your fingers trace the outline of my every curve,
can you speak to me in silence,
and make my mind swim without saying a word?
Can you make me high,
******,
drunk,
forced into ecstasy,
nearly unconscious,
with just a look?
Can you look into my eyes,
(communication in the dead of night?)
Let's play nurse;
fix me up.
Stitch me up with your hands,
can you do that?

He approached me
nonchalantly
stated my name,
matter-of-fact.

Who are you?
You are everywhere.

And he said
I am Death
and left me with unanswered questions.

shallow words.
you tell me everything
about how you ****** up your past,
full of enthusiastic negativity.
i have nothing to say.
so i sit here.
i am hiding from you.
i don't know why.
i hear about her,
and her.
if you love me so much...
i don't understand.
why do i need to know?
the past is behind me.
i don't know them.
if i make you feel so good,
then why do you still hurt?
there is no substance anymore.