And with just one word,
I watched as my dreams crashed down,
unable to hold
when life's harsh realities
beat down on their fragile frames.

This song
Will never disappear
It will never have been here

But it won’t be forgotten

Cause the words
Will never have been seen
The chords will never ring

And it’s all come out rotten

Cause the name behind the words
Will never be known
Never be known
And the heart behind the art
Will never be shown
It will go unknown
But that’s okay
All our names will one day fade away

The note
Will never be replied
The ink will never dry

Cause it won’t see the light of day

It’s smeared
between the irony
This world will never see

What I was trying to say

Cause the name behind the words
Will never be known
Never be known
And the heart behind the art
Will never be shown
It will go unknown
But that’s okay
All our names will one day fade away

It's alright
If you decide
To be in love
With someone else
Or that you were
Mistaken in the notion
That you somehow
Needed me

I know that my heart
Is heavy to hold,
So if your fingers
Have gone numb
Please just
Let me go
As gently as
You can.

last time we made love.
   stagnant heat bitter night,
    the smell of petrol from the highway,
        the old wind out on the balcony,
              our open windows,
our thin white curtains,
    our industrial city,
      our smogged stars.
                               and then –
our fast breathing and oh gosh,
           when you slipped your skull against my mouth
         i swear i could taste the scene:
some romantic technicolour western
     we’d watch in our friend’s garage
                        on their old TV.
                            (years gone past)
your hand against my skeletal
       cheek; our wandering minds;
                    our palm tree resorts,
       our electric hollywood dream;
          the setted sun
               the golden beaches
                       the tangerine taste in my mouth
                            from your love,
           the smell of our skin.

two.

  alone.

By a kitten's innocence,
A boy was fascinated.
"She hasn't met the world,"
The boy said.

"Have you met the world?"
Asked his brother.
"I know of killers and thieves,"
Was the boy's answer.

Not of sights, adventures,
Of love, life and its secrets.
By the world's cruelty,
A boy was disenchanted.

And why
is it shameful for a suicide to be fuelled by love?
why is love not good enough for you?
do you know the heartbreak behind love?
the stabbing pain deep inside your stomach when you see the one you love
embracing another
the pressure to be perfect
the loss of passion
the gain of boredom
the desperation when you feel them slipping through your fingers
the harshness of a reality without them
a reality so pure and plain that it seems useless to live there
to carry on without them
because in the end, what are we without love?
mindless, heartless, broken, bland.
don't you dare tell me that love is not enough
the sadness of a broken heart, is enough to send anybody
toppling over the edge.
slipping away.

We run from the rain,
Take shelter beneath buildings
And flimsy umbrellas
Afraid to get wet
As if the rain might wash that which is us
Down the street drains,
More sewage to be chemically treated
Before we pump it through the pipes
To shower over our heads
Safe this time as it is controlled by man
Nature's tears confined,
Man's nature defined.

The day will not arrive when the bird awakes and thinks "Not today, I don't feel like attending to the worm."

Nor will there ever be an ant who sits back and does not do its part for the industrious colony rather living off the labour of its fellows like so sort of parasite.

You don't look like I know you should; your clothes, your hair, your body and your accessories speak to a culture that I do not understand.
I'm not even sure I want to.

Before you cry hate realize that I am not speaking to the colour of your skin; pigment has zero relevance to the way you were raised, the friends you chose or who you are as you stand before me in this modern society.

The alien I find in you are the choices you've made, or rather the very few choices you've made as you've allowed the flavours of the masses to salt your very being, laying the foundation for the same row houses on each block, 'we' nothing more than automations that turn right, vote left and drive straight on into the witless death of 'our' meaningless life. Group hug.

I obviously am not talking about you; you read this poem and judge it unworthy or not and write your own birthing thoughts not yet authored, cutting yourself free from the tether of normality making the awakening of social consciousness possible.

Or perhaps I'm just another ******* on the train wearing awesome golf pants coming back from the game that takes more than it gives griping about life and those that don't live it or love it.