Hear the steps?
Past the curfew - two feet, counting stairs,
of a drunk man, who's stiffness is eerie.
It's the sound of me climbing up to my place
where there's no one to be doing the hearing.

Hear the jingle?
It's the finger in search of a key,
of a man who's had not enough spirit.
Would my loneliness also abandon me,
if I managed to fall in love with it?

Abuse

It’s not black or white
No one will understand
I went through something
I’m still processing
I am sad but I don’t understand why
I am loved and I am in pain
Why can’t they stop hurting me
I’m too young to protect myself
I need to protect them
I need it to stop
Why can’t they see I’m hurt
It’s all a blur
Memories are a blur
The feelings remain
I’m ashamed
I’m angry
I cry for my family
I cry for me

The writer perhaps has lied,
Let's think it was his mistake.
You'll meet your tomorrow blind,
Until you today awake.

Each day is a kind of lesson.
How thoroughly have you learnt?
For what did you spend it racing,
If you've got a **** result?

Replace your concerns to whiskey –
It's absolutely okay,
But precious time is risky
Be wasted on groundhog day.

This fiend, he's black
but not in colour.

He tracks: not you
but your brothers' brother.

He wins and jeers
and sits and cheers
and loses and who says
strange words that confuses.

But for all his whim
and dashing trim
he's bound up, wound up,
he's ready for sin.

This skin he bears, drained and cold,
grows thin with wear, and frees his soul.

The Prantercalt lives inside
he's cosy, got a stellar ride,
but anger burning,
envy churning,
these the weapons at his side.
Don't let him out,
he'll run about,
and you'll find your mind'a turnin.

An emotion or an illusion?
When you think, you are.
When you want, you can.
When you don’t—can you?

A state or a fate?
Do you decide it, or not?
Is it in your mind,
or beyond thought?

Is it materialism or a bond,
a lasting memory of years along—
a friendship, a relation, an achievement,
or nature’s quiet appreciation?

Is it real, or is it fake?
Something defined, or something I make?
A gaze into eyes,
or a stare at the stars?

If it is peace,
does it shine in the night sky?

Is it beautiful, or merely calming?
Cool or exciting—does it differ for all?
A claim to most,
or the worst of all?
Found in small things,
or in things that are not?

A sip of coffee in the cold,
or a cool breeze in summer’s warmth?
Is it in birth, or in death?

Up until now, more or less,
if I am in confusion,
so are you.
Asking yourself—
What is happiness?

You are my weapon,
my avenger,
the one I unleash
on anyone, anywhere.

Anyone guilty
of my lack of effort,
my frustration,
or of not being kind.

I fire you
for the things I lose
or the ones I fail to overcome.

I keep you tied to my waist,
always loaded,
but never well secured.

I **** you,
like a revolver in my hand,
and pull the trigger
with reckless passion.

It’s an uncommon thing,
To be someone that can elicit emotion and thought,
To have a presence that invokes passion and desire.

There are countless things that can drive us to be better,
To reach higher, to strive for more.

Words on a page, echoes in music,
The light that brings the world to life as dawn breaks,
But those don’t look you in the eye.

They don’t stand next to you,
Breathing the same air.
They don’t laugh in a way that sticks to your skin,
Pulling you into a moment.

And it doesn’t seek attention.
Without effort, it’s a presence that already holds it.
With no intention,
It exists in a way that can’t be ignored.

It’s an unfortunate thing,
That most are seen but not felt,
And I used to wonder what it might be like
To have that.
I was envious.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to realize that I am lucky,
Because I get to feel it.
The shift when you walk into a room,
The way the world pauses—not because you demand it,
But because even silence seems to recognize you.

And because of people like you, I don’t need to be the one who lingers in the minds of others,
Because I get to witness something rare.
I get to be moved by it,
To know that for a moment, I was in the presence of something unforgettable.

And that, I’ve come to learn, is its own kind of significance.