Blue eyes, ever so mysterious
Sealed lips,  always hiding a secret,
Red hair,  a dash of love when you run away from truth.


Joy shining in your eyes, laugh lines ever present,
Laughs escaping your lips as if it costs you nothing,
Hair playing with the wind like children with no worries



Eyes downcast,  shying away or guilty?
Lips smiling from here, frowning from there,
Hair,  half done up,  half swaying in the wind.



So tell me darling,  what are you? An open book or a relic written in God's own language?

The window steams up,

and I read: I'm also there –


when you can't see it.

A flutter of white against stained-oak desk
laying in wait, it anticipates
the first mark on blank surface
dots, loops, lines, inscribed representations
to illustrate unseen curiosities
to anchor their essence into the visible
for you and I to perceive.

The meaning of growing up,
Perhaps lost in translation
I never realized what it meant,
To lose your innocence
And the feeling of playing catch up,
When the train had left the station.

Do you see me for who I am
Or do you see me
For who you want me to be?

I feel
As if I'm filled with black blood

We are all so
Tiny tiny tiny tiny tiny tiny

I feel
As if I'm filled with black blood

I'm a hanged man I'm a fool

I feel
As if I'm filled with black blood

We are all so
Tiny tiny tiny tiny tiny tiny

Do you see me for who I am
Or do you see me
For who you want me to be?

My blood is black