LIKE rain fingers play a sound in your leaves,
Clinging to the overwhelming silence I recognize.

I once had the courage that turned out to be frightening.
Without you, I'm a coward, pervert already in the first step.

I want to write any sentence, with words
cried "Oh .." at first. And "Ah ..", in the end.

I imagine it's in melodious lyrics, which are sung
singers - who like me - are never good at dancing.

As for the song - after you hear it - meaning:
leaving you, that means I leave
myself,  that's why only on you I'm back.

The space between ethereal measure,
  the nothingness connecting our divide.
This lack of substance is surreal, obscure
  are old memories of sharing your side.
Ours is the spirit, by which we are bound,
  a realm we share where timelessness persists.
Where shapeless planes carry a formless sound,
  the self becoming selfless, unresisting.
The place you’ve gone does not belong to me
  and in the space between us, seeds are sown.
The tree of life sways softly with the breeze
  while you continue, beyond what I know.
Like wings that carry over to another shore,
  you are my leaf on the wind. I see you soar.

The spot where you fell now has the shadow of new you
beginning to start a reign,
autumn's decrepit form
forgot
in
this rise;
only for spring
are your eyes.

Miles and minutes
Trading time for a timeline
I'd rather not finish
Stick it out and ill be fine

Passing space
Metal matter flowing far below me
It must be the high tide I love to race
Encroaching, live for the second

Adrenaline dripline
Barely alive but still doing fine
Seperate my body and mind
Laughing as everyone else, doing their best to undermine

As i stick my wheels to the curb
***** four wheel drive
One more dead end suburb
I lost any reason i had left to strive

But im still right here
I havent moved in so **** long
In the seat of my car
Still hearing the same **** songs

Still partaking in life as it may come
Still drinking gas station pop
I was told the world would pass me by
But turns out my world follows me
And I dont mind
Passing their world by

Space seems so far away
And im still worried about words
Ideas die when action is taken
Stones are broken as we discern
Rebuilding feels so akin
To leaving no stone unturned

And as my temepered glass view finder
Drifts father through the rubble
I can see promise
And i can see the death of each and every one of them

I heard a dead leaf
scraping the concrete
I looked up
It was a flower

A Valentine's Card dressed
With Steve Buscemi's face,
photoshopped onto a child,
disturbing and hilarious,
tattooed on the inside
with once-true truths.
Flammable.

A severed chunk of
35 mm film,
cut in a rhombus,
or trapeze or whatever,
highly flammable.

A piece of cloth
I brought with me,
And the part of
the belt I had to cut
off so it would fit
my skinny ***.
Flammable, slightly.

A dead and dried up leaf,
Impaled on the bulletin board,
From a tree I don't even know what,
That sometimes crinkles with the wind,
If she were alive still,
She would comment on the
Cold thumbtack spear
In her abdomen, and
Sniff regrets at the sweet,
Artificial Vanilla waves below.

I keep my wall of
flammable memories
Above a lit candle,
Every day, I wish the flames
Would reach a little higher, but
Every day, the wax sinks,
low, low, lower still.