A new day.
The world is my oyster.
Places to visit.
People to meet.

Endless opportunities.
None taken.
Now sleep.

Repeat.

Is it selfish to make people happy
if it makes me feel good?
Am i doing it for them,
or am i doing it for me?
If i feel deep joy at other peoples pain,
but i help them anyway,
would that make me a good person?

I have a next door neighbor who's always short of cash
This neighbour is aware I have a little stash
Every second friday I await his usual knock
A three day loan of twenty pounds at exactly 10 oclock.

This has become a habit, these loans to my friend Jack
I do not mind him asking as he always pays me back
He needs some gas and electric, it's not good to go without
That and more dubious substances, of that I have no doubt

But then it got me wondering, this money I do lend
Cash in perpetual motion, seems like it will never end
To and fro and back and forth for all eternity
Am I the one who lends to him, or does he lend it to me?

They're just lips,
They're just teeth.
But when she smiles...

Time goes so slow when waiting for the dawn.
These early mornings that ****** me from my
haven that is unconsciousness.
Where nothing can touch me, gnaw at me,
remind me that all is not well.
These uninvited guests that thrive in the darkness,
they **** and poke around in my mind,
  Evoking all my negativity, my grief, my pain.
They remind me of where I am now,
and of where I used to be.
Delivering each morn the same shock again and again.
They cling to this darkness like squatters, refusing to leave.
I wait for the morning light, for sunrise, for respite.

Always faithful,
Always giving.
This treasure with a
Canine heart

For the soothing of the soul
For the resting of the mind
For the pumping of the blood
and excessive beating of the heart
For those journey's to somewhere else
For that welcome reprieve from reality
I can always rely on you