Grasping at love or passion or ecstasy.
Take this pain from me, sop up my tears.
Pour me a cup of sunshine and roses.
Let me bask in the light of your aura,
And I will be full of joy once again.

My head spins and swims and swirls.
Dizzy with delusion and disconsolate,
Like a lighthouse for the lost and lonely.
My weakened heart pulses steadily.
A rhythmic blast of fluorescent green.

We wrote our names in the sand.

The gentle rain began to grace the
shores with its mysterious beauty
as its delicate droplets fell
slowly
from the heavens high above.

The sun's rays refracted
against the glistening waters,
and the rain dissipated
when it came in contact
with the smooth surface of the ocean blue.

Crystal clear streaming drops continued
making their way to the waves,
but soon their gentle graces grew
into pounding pours.

The lightning came without warning.
The sun hid behind the dark clouds.
The tides began to toss and turn,
and the waves crashed against the sand,
washing away our names
until all that was left was

the sand, the waves, the lightning
and the rain.

you were the brilliance of midnight sky,
the watercolours in the morning dew.
i know i promised i would make it right,
i know i said that i'd come back for you.

but there's a warning in the red and white,
it sounds like someone's gonna lose control.
and i don't think i'll make it home tonight,
no, i don't think i can survive this fall.

you were the sunlight, boastful in its pride,
the subtle shift before the darkness grew.
i'm sorry that i couldn't make it right,
i'm sorry that i can't come back for you.

He lived down the street from us,
And came to be known as,
The man whose wife left him.
We speculated and surmised.
None but two knew the reason why
He became
The man whose wife left him.

He stopped cutting the grass
And weeding the beds.
He won’t play his uke
On the porch like he did.
From all accounts,
He was a good Dad,
None ever heard him
Explete a foul word.
He worked till retired,
Never was fired.
I'm told he lived a gentle life;
Never started a fight,
Or ran from strife.
That's what I heard
About the man whose wife left him.
Left to his own devices,
The man whose wife left him,
Left.

On scraps of paper
strewn about the house,
I catch a glimpse of your handwriting  
and it resurrects you from the dead.

Amongst the living,
I can hear your whistle  
as it echos in the hall  
and I remember how I thought that,
'one day, you would make a good dad'.

Amongst the living,
I forget for a moment
that you’re thirsty  
for my blood.  
and that dust now gathers
in the spaces  
where the blood used to flow.

Amongst the living,
I forget for a moment
that you’re haunting me.  
That you’re still here  
but I can’t speak to you.  

That your corpse still lies  
in the next room
Still.  
Tv blaring,
The smell lingers  
and it’s getting bad.  
my phone lights up with your name  

and I jump.

Amongst the living,
I remember  
that you’re only broken.  
I can see your smile
in my mind’s eye,  
Your freckles  
and how I used to count them.  
I wonder now
how much time I’ve spent  
staring at your face  
and how I knew our baby
would have those eyes too.
primal, astral, ancestral,
blue.

I loved you once
and for a moment,  
I remember.

coloring inside the lines is impossibly bleak,
with a hissing noise
atomic locomotive
rounds the bend,
extrasensory perception is not
a mindless gift,
it's a train station in the clouds,
tracking all my starting points to you,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.

you leave in opera
with secrets and grievances
under the radar,
and your ready-made
wings catch in the power lines,
you're coiling like smoke
in the arches of my cathedral,
a sense of elegant decay
while sweeping up the debris,
committing arson
with the paraffin of my temporal lobe.

yesterday's fairground waltzes,
ghosted lullabies,
and woodland hymnals,
set in a context not of
resolution and closure,
but of contradiction and assimilation,
break the bond,
away they float on purveyor belts,
one too many molecules,
one too many departures,
always on the surface of everything,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.

I'd **** myself if it meant it spared you all the pain,
I'd willingly go crazy if it meant that you would stay sane
I wish I didn't have to make an impossible choice,
I'm trying to handle it with some grace and poise,
I hate that I see your face devoid of a smile,
I know it will remain like this for a while.
I hate that I'm making your dreams disappear,
I hate that I can't predict the future; it's so unclear.
The world refuses to help in any way,
I'm forced to hurt you, to ruin your every day.
If I could ask the universe for just one boon,
It would be for time to fly, so I can be with you, soon.

Sometimes I hear a whisper,
The slightest hum of her voice,
Eyes scavenge the plains before me,
For a glimmer of her,
For a glimmer of hope,
Alas! There is none,
Nothing but the thoughts of a melancholic mind.

Sometimes the wind carries a fragrance,
Redolence of our past embrace,
Lips spread to call out her name,
For a sight of her,
For a sight of love,
Alas! There is none,
Nothing but the thoughts of a melancholic mind.