I don’t need you to solve my problems
Just listen to me while I cry
I don’t need you to give your life
Just love me when I want to die

Give me time to process
Give me time to breath
Promise that you’ll hold me
Promise you won’t leave

I just need some time to grieve for
The life I lost when I was young
I just need some time to grieve for
All the songs I’ve left unsung

When we wake up in the morning
As the sun peaks through the trees
The birds sing out their warning
As the wind rustles through the leaves

I can feel my heart a glowing
As you kiss me on the cheek
Like a tree I have been growing
Of my sorrows let me speak

I just need some time to grieve for
The life I lost when I was young
I just need some time to grieve for
All the songs I’ve left unsung

When the day is gone
And we’re done with the sun
Kiss me on my head
As I sink into the bed

As the sky’s turn red
And I’m wishing I was dead
You can rock me to sleep
With the nightmares I keep

And I’ll dream of songs unsung
And I’ll dream of songs unsung

Stars spinning overhead
written June 16th, 1997

stars spinning overhead
the trials start each night

it seems this once stable earth
has become a wild carnival ride

as i lay me down to sleep
i pray the lord my soul to keep

each night this seeming reality
plunges me deeper into fright

like a never ending free-fall
drowning without dying

ever persistent these things in the night
what more do i have to give?

awake until i'm dizzy
till i finally take to my bed

but it seems that nothing
can protect me in the night

from the stars spinning overhead

Sometimes I suddenly wake
Scared, anxious, nervous
Flooded with memories
Of a familiar stranger
And the scariest part
is this image, of myself,
so vulnerable, so happy

next to him.

Metaphors; nested, unconncected.

High order entaglements due to a damaged brain.

Fulfiled, Afraid, confused, dreams make you petrified.

Ask yourself those questions.

Conceptualised, formulated and executed
in a damaged brain.

Tremendous courage and steady blood flow through my veins
clamp your fists and hold on tightly

I will make it through sane
on both my feet
even if I have to strain.

If its you who love me, I shall dream of you
and write about you,
from a damaged brain.

I used to have this night terror...
a man or multiple chasing me
trying to kidnap me
I watched him kidnap so many others

he reached out to me
this scary man with a disguise of female features...
I never understood
where and what created this fear of abuse
at such a young age I ran from more men in my dreams than I did in real life...
I never thought of being abused...
I have no memories.
Was I? did something happen to me?
I will never truly know. I see kids getting kidnapped from their homes in my dreams
Do I know exactly what that means? How far will they take me?
Is it simply the fears of the world, pushed into a child's brain so that it may never leave, a matter of fact.
the knowledge that should be engrained. or is it the past lives of many once lived? / an unconscious collective of memories.
just simply I will never know.

the night terrors turn to day dreams
i witness myself being choked...
i can feel someone watching me
i lose track of time
watching some take their time on me...
i cause myself tears...

i create all these fears in my head
i can see them so clear
these fears i could never control
and i never once understood

never the memories of someone i knew
all strangers
created
from a memory
i almost knew

Welcome to Misadventure, you're drawn to it in some berserk way, maybe due to it's atomic habits or technological urges,

sometimes there are cool, but irrational gun-totting robots who speak in foam, their presence detected by iron filings or teeth fillings or both or neither,

I just know there are tire tracks on your wife's new dress, the smell of gasoline coming from the guest bedroom, and a half-eaten Stouffers lasagna rotating on the record turntable,

and here a replicated version of your wife dances to the Italian Song, her ******* like lodestones, upturned and pressed together,

drawing you to them in some berserk way,
and they give such life and merriment to your brain's parcel of needles, that they prance and sway as if the devil were in them.