And I wonder if
You'll leave like the others
Each time I reek of sadness

bought a second book to write between the pages.

Sometimes I make corrections
On words that are only wrong to me
Sometimes I try to write the wrongs
That no one else can see.

Sometimes I tear the pages out
And scatter them in the fire
I rewrite those words over again
Late at night untill I tire.

Sometimes my dust cover slips away,
And my hardback seen beneath.
With brused wet edges torn away,
Like a wolf that shows its teeth.

I do not want the world to see
scribbles, drawn in many stages
So I bought myself a second book.
To write between the pages.

Wondering here like a dream;
  The moon to my left,
    Sat here on my balcony.

                          A soft breeze brushes my hair;
                        Calm as a kiss,
                      My mind drifts in the air.

      A cars headlights glide over the horizon;
        The darkness finds comfort
          Till it hits lights at London;

                                  Red sparkles glisten and glimmer;
                                Shivering remnants of life
                              In an empty place for sinners.

                The opposite shine up above;
                  Stars in darkness,
                    Thinking love not enough.

                                          The only way to come back down to earth
                                         Is by looking up at night
                                       To be lost in a universe.

It's a one-hundred and eleven
yard walk to the gas station
for a fresh pack of Spirits and
a new lighter. Black this time.

I'm about fifteen miles away
from you in the literal sense
and separated from you for
roughly two months in mind.

People talk about my cigarettes
because they claim to be free
of fillers and additives. Sure.

I think the package is pretty
and they feel nice on my lips.

They burn pretty **** long
and they give me a hell of a buzz
but once I'm down to the filter,
I still have to move to a new one.

I woke up one day,
the sun had gone away.
While the moon
was nowhere to be seen.

In the growing cold,
the ice was gaining ground.
While time was growing old.

soon there would be no-one
to remember what had been.

The lines in the distance,
join into one.
we're heading to the
vanishing point.
If we disappear;
maybe it would be
a better difference.

Awry this earth's become,
frayed by changing fiction.
Dreaming of what,
once never has been.

Sold as a vain token,
for an declining return.
Fortold by our history.

Soon there will be no-one,
to tell of what was seen.

The lines in the distance,
join into one.
we're heading to the
vanishing point.
If we disappear;
maybe it would be
a better difference.