There was a void.
Then there was light.
There was his voice.
His touch which made me quiver.
His fragrance that lingered
Like the dew every morning
Like the dreams that kept coming back
Like the waves that washed away sandcastles
Like the wind which bent the daffodils on the sidewalk
Like a phone that kept ringing.
Like the letters left unanswered.
The birthdays that kept coming.
His voice rang in my head.
Like a beautiful symphony that would be the end of me if it stopped.

A thousand pictures lying on the floor
Do I even recognize us anymore?

Like seasons that come one after the next
Like the unassuming traffic i see through the window of a hotel
In an unknown town
On an unknown date
The calendar has failed me

I need to stop tasting you on my tongue
Like a pill I can't swallow
Like a high I can't get
Like a breakfast in a picturesque town, left unfinished
Like words of a foreign language I can't seem to pronounce correctly.

Every time I close my eyes, I think I forget.
And then there is a void.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words
The number of pictures in my head is absurd
Each is a memory I'd like to take back
The number of regrets are beginning to stack
A thousand pictures that hold nothing great
A million words that are filled with hate
A million things I wish were different
A million things I wish I hadn't

A picture is worth a thousand words

A thousand pictures, one million words
How to stop the bad pictures from coming?
Make the right decisions to keep your world from crumbling
Take it from me, a girl with mistakes
Each memory causes a chain of heartaches

A picture is worth a thousand words

A thousand pictures, one million words
The number of pictures in my head is absurd
So be careful with all the decisions you make
Or in the end it may be your life you take
Take it from me, the girl who is dead
Just another mistake I made at the end

I look at pictures
From years ago

Even then
I thought I was
Ugly

Yet when I see the pictures,
I see a beautiful stranger

I don't know who she is,
Except people say
She is me

But she looks so bright
Radiant
And happy

And she is beautiful

She looks innocent
Young
And lovely

Surely,
This girl is not me.

I was never that happy,
Or innocent
Or bright

Was I?

I compare the girl in the picture,
To the girl in the mirror.
How is it possible,
That these are both me?

our generation should be known as the Meowlennials
because our biggest accomplishment was getting cat pictures all over the internet.

Back behind Gianni's bar
The Bluesman sings his tunes
To all the local n'er do wells
And to the stars and to the moon

His voice is coarse as forty grit
His playing smooths it out
He plays upon an orange crate
Comfort is not what he's about

Bluesman, Bluesman play a song
One sung just for me
One that paints pictures in my head
A song that I can see

Buskers, lined the concourse
The street where he was not
This was just a place for tourist fare
He was where the world forgot

His tunes were sung for no one but
Himself and to the air
Out front, that was another world
Bluesman, did not live out there

A crowd has gathered slowly
More of a group, than a real crowd
They heard about the bluesman
And out front was too **** loud

In back, you heard the feelings
Felt the music, heard the strings
You experienced the atmosphere
That a good old bluesman brings

Out of the crowd of fandom
Working his way through the mass
Was a young, tousled haired boy
Everybody let him pass

He rocked in one position
He felt the music ebb and flow
He looked where the notes were airborne
He saw the music go

The bluesman sat and watched him
playing stories, telling tales
Of drunks in old Las Vegas
And of sailors fighting gales

the young boy stood and rocked some
always looking at the air
He wasn't looking at the bluesman
He didn't know that he was there

He walked up to the old man
staring out into the space
that streamed the bluesmans music
right into the young boys face

the bluesman watched intently
As the young lad touched his hand
And he held the bluesmans old guitar
He became a member of the band

The boy moved even closer
If that were possible at all
He was feeling the sweet music
He was having quite a ball

The crowd watched as the bluesman
and the boy became as one
The boy resting his head now
On the guitar, having fun

He couldn't see the bluesman
But the music, it was there
The boy was blind, autistic
He saw the notes that filled the air

The bluesman kept on playing
For that was what the bluesman did
He was playing for the starry sky
And for this wondrous little kid

His mother came and held him
She took the bluesman by the hand
She said thank you for the music
For letting him be in your band

In a voice as smooth as Bourbon
The bluesman told her that her son
Could come and feel the music
The music makes us one

Bluesman, Bluesman play a song
One that's only just for me
Bluesman, Bluesman play a song
That only I can see....

Going through our chapters
feeling those hidden pictures behind,
Keeping count on my tear drops
from your first breath, till my     heart stops

I know we've gone our separate ways
But every now and then I still think
Of you, us, and our time together
Then I go through your pictures
And see how well you've been
I still stalk you because i care
I miss you and can't say so
I wish I hadn't let you go
Now we barely speak
I still care about you
But I can't tell you

The illusions you have cast

Are nothing more than false images

Memories fabricated from the Book of Lies

Painted Pictures You believed to have Created

With each word, syllable, and sentence, you spew

You are just another Viper spreading your Venom