Dreaming dreams of distant days
dreams that were far beyond my gaze
that rings the bells of melancholy
straining my heart, killing my jolly
loudly my lonesome heart beats
into my head like trampling feets
But on my awake out of mercy
an 'angel-hand' rescues me.
I keep dreaming ever since
of an 'angel' and a 'prince'.

I am convinced
That if all mankind
Could only gather together
In one circle
Arms on each other's shoulders
And dance, laugh and cry
     together
   Then much
     of the tension and burden
       of life
     Would fall away
In the knowledge that
We are all children
Needing and wanting
Each other's
Comfort and
Understanding
We are all children
Searching for love

Do you know the sting of air, on skin?
When now there's a scar where there was perfection?

why do you have to be sad before you appreciate happy? why does that burning inspiration only come when you are in darkness? why do I fill pages while a knot of sadness sits in my stomach? why do the urges to pour out feelings no longer come while I am enjoying my time, myself, my love? why does happiness stomp out creativity like a cigarette in an ashtray and sadness lights it back up with some addictive flame? yes… the sadness might make you sink low, low, low, but that’s where the passion is. when you are low and you don’t understand, you either write about it, draw it out, paint it into vision, you express it in some way, or you **** yourself. you have to do something with all those raw feelings. what about happiness though? happiness is so bright and special, why don’t I want or need to express that? is my happy less than everyone else’s? why are things so right when I’m so broken? I only understand myself in sadness. happiness makes me question everything. sadness feels like being in love. are those the only two things I can really feel? sadness and love?… the only times I feel alive, the only times I feel like me are when I have something to write about, something to consume me in 4am thoughts, something that makes it all so real, to make me need to get it out and appreciate the intensity in another form.

we endlessly search
for something to give us meaning
in every newly turned page
in every unexplored street corner
we look
but to no avail
we do not desire gold
nor love
but to leave a mark on the world
that is not a scar

Winter is coming and I'm panicked.
I'm scared of the nostalgia it might bring
when I see the first snowflakes fall
for the first time without you.

You're warm and cozy, probably,
enjoying it all too well.
And I know the only way I'll survive this winter
is to have a heart colder than the air around my cloudy breath,
and the shoulder of you - a stranger -
someone I once knew like the back of my hand.
I'll pretend when I close my eyes
it's not you I'm seeing.

The temperature is dropping, and the leaves are dying
one by one.
I'm hiding away my feelings,
burying them until spring.
But maybe by then, they will have slept beside you too long.
They'll be dead, and kept by you,
Irretrievable - too far gone.

I'm not grieving just for you, anymore.
I'm grieving for myself,
and the cold-hearted ***** I have come to be.

from time to time, I still think of you.

how we used to get by...

how I fell beneath one-thousand shades;
sunrise orange, and dainty red.            
learning we were both
capable of the          
                         tilt,
                               turn,
                                       twist,
                                                 and
                                                             ­    verge.                           

I used to thank you
for spending the nights
in the living-room.
Instead of his room.

You would say,
"I like falling asleep with you,
but waking up next to him."

Yes, the bitterness is
mostly gone.
                                                           ­    
                                                            ­        
I still think of you
every now and then

“Promise to remember”
said the fish to the sea.
“Keep all the stories
And tell them to me.”

“Promise to be patient”
said the sea to the land.
“When I lose hope,
lend me a hand”

“Promise to love me”
Said the land to the wind.
“Give to me daily
and never rescind”

“Promise to stay”
said the wind to the sky.
“Be with me always;
don’t ever die”

“Promise to help me”
said the sky to the man.
“Whenever I need you,
do what you can”

But the man didn’t hear.

So, the sky in his need
Left the wind all alone.

And the wind hated land.
And the land became stone.

The sea lost all hope
And forgot every tale.

So fish are all silent
thanks to man’s epic fail.