That's what he said,
He ain't a liar.
Of course not, how could he be.

He swayed from the rules.
He ain't a liar.
Just a boy caught in the breeze of his blues.

He played the waiting game.
He ain't a liar.
I guess he was always after the attention.

He loved her.
He ain't a liar.
Leading the way, clearing her path.

He believed in her.
He ain't a liar.
She hoped and longed for him.

He got her killed.
He ain't a liar.
Took her straight down the path to danger.

It's all about the game
the game of speaking words
if said right on time
one could conquer worlds

words that could hurt
words that could heal
words that could help you
forget what you feel

beware of the words
they could make you fall
for the deadly trap
abandoned by them all

playing with the words
is a dangerous act
but they were both players
best of the best !!

Drunk and poured my heart out next thing you know I was pouring my guts out in a trash can. You got me vulnerable holding my hair getting me some ibuprofen . Look at you trying to look out. I already looked out I see the cards in your hand. Carelessly I played into your plan.

The day arrived, the sun was out
The sky was perfect, calm
All was as it should be
No resistance 'fore the storm
A winter gone, a spring in bloom
Things were as things should be
Fresh paint and banners hung out
For all the world to see
Bunting just the way it was
On days like this before
It showed off baseball's history
No less and nothing more
The lines were crisp and dedicated
The foul lines and the fair
The team logos were painted
Silence hung in the spring air
A church for fifty thousand
To revere this game they'll see
And if each single seat is filled
There'll be fifty thousand forty three
The boys of summer own this field
New history shall be made
While fans scream for their favorites
As the game is being played
A chess game on such pristine grass
At this park it's real
At others you will find that it
Is plastic...and lacks feel
The players, some are new as well
They were not here last year
The owners changed the line ups so
Your favorites are not here
Fathers, sons, and daughters
Share this circus every spring
It's a rite of family passage
To most a holy thing
New jerseys, hats and banners
Showing where alliegance lies
There is no joy in Mudville
As each person chooses sides
The umpires, too, begin anew
They must be on the ball
Today's game is most scrutinized
You cannot miss a call
The sense of pomp and circumstance
In this annual ceremony
Breaks out all of the rituals
In a loud cacophony
The teams announced and anthems sung
Color parties raise the flags
This is what baseball's all about
Home plate and three new bags
The smell of ******* jack and beer
Hot dogs and candy corn
Soon start to infiltrate the park
And they break up this fresh morn
The players sit below now
Waiting for the game to start
Cliche speeches break the air
As the managers play their part
It's time to all get ready
Put this years "uni" on
And to rid your self of buttlerflies
And get that feeling gone
You check yourself before hand
Make sure that the outfits good
And you go over the ground rules
And know exactly what you should
Your'e as important to this game now
You are the holder of their fate
For your job is most important
You let the patrons though the gate
The actors in this rite of spring
Are varied in their roles
From players, umps and concessioneirs
They all make baseball whole
The opening of each season
Shows off every single team
From the players out there on the field
To the ones behind the scenes.
You put your best foot forward
Because you want them all to say
That baseball is just special
Because of Opening Day.

They all seem so disposable
It hasn't always been like this
I once was the disposable one
The one that didn't matter
The one trying to keep her composure
I used to care to much
And now I care so little
I used to get head over my heels so easily
But the words coming out of their mouths weren't real
And I learned not to be the foolish girl
The one standing there looking like an idiot  
So instead I leave before they can
Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out
Running away like this

There are nights I can't sleep,
because I'm pestered with thoughts of you.

There are mornings I wake,
Exhausted from chasing you.

There are afternoons I bare,
Pretending I'm fine.
Maybe one day I'll believe it.

Then finally the evenings I collapse,
Knowing that this isn't the last.

The worst parts of my day,
Are seeing you,
because it reminds me,
of how little I meant to you.

Undoubtedly all great players know                                                                      Their roles accurately ...                                                                                           No one goes beyond                                                                                                 One's role anytime ...                                                                                               All roles are planned greatly                                                                                    To suit themselves ...                                                                                                 Any violation of one's role ,then                                                                              It will inevitably lead to one's end ...                                                                       Crossing red lines is not allowed anytime ...

He casts his fishing lines into the water and waits patiently
.. what shall be the catch for tonight?
He needs something to breathe life back into himself; get his creative juices flowing again.

This is what feeds the Artist after all.
He does not need food or water;
he needs inspiration.
Good, bad, ugly.. it matters not.
It must be something- someone-
that affects him intensely,
that reaches deep down beyond his self-imposed armour,
and grabs at his soul.
He needs to devour in order to survive.

It is not long before one bites, and then another.. and maybe another.
He gently coaxes, drawing them in with his seductive lures.
He knows this art well.. knows what to say, what to do, who to be.. or not be..

He examines.. tests them..
… a little subtlety here.. more boldness there,
     …… but tempered,
                with a laugh,
                a smile,
                  a chuckle,
                    a wink.

He doesn’t quite want to scare them away,  but he wants to see how far he can go.
What boundaries can he safely breach..?
He pushes, he pulls..
He engages, he retreats..
He shares, he takes..
He tugs, he releases…
     … and the dance continues until his search is satisfied.

And then when he has determined which shall be his catch for the night,
which of these waltz partners is most ready to be broken – open-
he gently releases the others back into the waters…
gently Discarded.

Perhaps they will be led back to his watering hole another day,
and perhaps they will be the ‘one’ at that future time —
or perhaps they will never be seen or heard from again.

It does not matter.

What matters is Now.
What matters!
         is what it takes to feed his desire.
What matters is this moment.
Everything is in this one moment.

This is practice after all.. one must practice in order to perfect the technique.
One must perfect the technique if he wishes to be claimed and devoured by Bliss.
And who does not wish to be devoured by Bliss?

“Enjoy the practice, perfect the technique”.

he says.