A poet with a poem purely made of glass
Holds on to it dearly as each day shall pass
Waiting for that moment to simply let it go
For the poem will only shatter onto the minds who wish to know.

I'm a drug addict
I'm sorry I don't have anything better to say.
Did you know I have secrets I keep from everyone?
Is that normal?
The things I've done for drugs would make me sick so I don't think about them.
Everyone wants to be a better parent than their parent because they did such a bad job, but they did their best and my best will only be sub-par.
Where are we going?
Are we just looking through the rear view mirror as we drive away from the fire?

You're not the subject of my dreams.
You don't haunt my sleeping thoughts.
You don't exist in my mindless slumber.
You've disappeared from the dreamscape.
You've escaped existence.

In place of you,
Another figure rises from the incandescent air.
As if you were never there,
The figure smiles.

You're not the stranger I once knew.
You're a blur in time.
You're the glaring of lights.
You're the whisper of secrets.
I don't know you anymore.

In place of you,
Another strange thing taunts me.
As if you never existed.

You're no religion to me anymore.
Unholy, unbroken, and unseen.
You're not Godly anymore.
I can't pray to you.
You’re a bad religion.

I can’t read you anymore,
Slowly tracing you with my fingers,
I can’t read between your lines--
I don’t know you.

So, who are you?
Where have you been?
Why don’t you haunt me anymore?
Up in smoke.

At the end of the day,
there are some things
you just can´t help but talk about it.
Some things we just don't  
want to hear. And some things we say because
we just can't be silent anymore.

Show me the secrets in the shadowy places that good boys and girls  should never see; like rock'n'roll rumbling in a dingy divebar-backroom, or lovers in a rain soaked alley.

Show me the secrets in the hidden places that only the lonely children can see: the shoe box treasure chests of broken shiny things, bric-a-brac in old tin cans, a cobweb covered crawlspace comicbook, or a lost love's lost love notes never sent and never seen.

Show me the secrets in the wilderness gardens that only the dreamers may dare to see: Dandelion promenades of pine needles paved over rotten leaves and treebark leading away to toadstool terraces among orchards of fiddlehead ferns and ghost pipes ascending to trumpet the day.

Show me the secrets hidden behind curtains that spirits and mediums only should see: the souls untethered and howling damnation at their veiled purgation in a dustless dimension forever unheard.

Listening to your treasured song in hopes of your feelings. I love you it hurts i need you but i wouldn't ask that and i would never ever tell you about my feelings because i don't want you to be weighted down by my secrets. Your blue eyes dazzle me and it flusters me when I realize how much you actually care about me.