Close your eyes, sweetheart, wish all your wishes
as your mother sings you this lullaby.

Wrapped in a flurry of goodnight kisses,
soar high on the wings of a firefly.

Shatter the moon in a thousand pieces;
sprinkle some bright stars across the night sky.

Sleep now, my love, dream your troubles away -
You have more dragons tomorrow to slay.

wafting cherry blossom-flakes
              snowing into downy clouds
                    alight upon dark skeleton bones
                                       no longer bare

                                              as falling puffs of winter feathers
                                                        ­           gather gently how I wish
                                                             I knew to construct a home
                                                        so sound

         as that little architect
                     who tests each twig upon
                                                     the ground

You are the most velveteen of all the rabbits
And I will hold you every night, tight to my chest
And suffocate you sometimes
But most of all love you
And it will be worth it

Wanting to reach out
I can't grasp just any hand
so i can refrain and grab my own
schizophrenic anarchy is always my second choice.
So i tore rose pedals from the flower and yelled to the ever so guilty skies
She loves me not!

I must have been a sociopath in my previous life
to quietly deal with all my strife and dissension with the acquainted

A wise woman once told me some people aren't content with their thoughts
so they don't like to be alone
I lied and replied I AM
with all of my polar opposites I am more alone
than ever before, I can just blame the moon
but i know that I need my ray of sunshine.

*not self pity, autobiographical

we are not measured rightly by good chance
our hopes are limitless but not our skin
there are no victors ever at this dance

they told us this was the time to advance
that all the old faults had been cast in bin
we are not measured rightly by good chance

our wounds will never let us jump or prance
and when we are related we're not kin
there are no victors ever at this dance

since it's a game whose players can enhance
their virtues best by adding to the din
we are not measured rightly by good chance

nor yet permitted to take up a stance
above the fray our only hope is sin
there are no victors ever at this dance

but there are still fools who think it romance
and who believe that there's a prize to win
we are not measured rightly by good chance
there are no victors ever at this dance