We're too old,
You and I,
To be showing up on each other's doorsteps late at night

We are not children,
With Forever laid out before us
like the roads of Rome

But you are a balm to my soul
And the eye in my storm
And for this
If nothing else
you will be remembered.

We find it in the bottom of a cup
In a wine glass or beer mug
Imbibing all manner of spirits
Until the blackness takes hold.

Or in a person who eases our spirit
A phone call, a message.
Acknowledging our existence
And letting us know we’re loved

Some people find it in lines on a mirror
Or in a needle that leaves scars
It’s smoked off of a spoon
Or rolled in some paper

Other people cut, pain to ease pain
Slicing away bits of anxiety and flesh
Leaving thin long reminders of
Feelings best forgotten

Some find it in poetry, vomiting feelings
Onto a pristine white page until
It’s full and stained in emotion  
An artwork of agony

A few seek moments alone to
Close their eyes and meditate.
Counting breaths and clearing imagination
Getting lost in the maze of their minds

Some brave individuals
Listen to blues and sorrow
Their anxieties leaking from their eyes
And out of their noses.

Me. Maybe I do them all
Maybe I don’t.

If I lay still enough
here in this pitch black vacuum
they call my room.
If I lay still enough
will I disappear?
Fade into the background
mist into memory.

The dark is not that bad
If you imagine it a sun
evaporate that you can't contain
The dark is soothing
If you think of it as medicine
as solace.
A pocket of space
where nothing exists
And you with it

I can lay here, calm
Not afraid of monsters lurking
The only real monsters live inside
They speak too loud.
The darkness crushes all
And I let it

In my pitch black room
I don't exist
And no one can say goodbye

I guess I was a bit different,
lost in the realm of books and words.
Everyone else was flowing on a different current
while I was swept away by tales of brave heroes and mystical new worlds.

But, lately - in both senses of the word - I realized that,
I'm not different after all - never was at any stage.
I do belong. Belong, to the encompassing and motherly embrace of the solace i receive, when I put pen to paper and pour my heart out on to the page.

In the mood for love
But the current to fight
And I no longer hate the fire

In the mood for love
But I love solace
And the untouchable feeling

In the mood for love
But my disillusion
Keeps me company

In the mood for love
But I'm not one for
Showing you my secrets

In the mood for love
But years of closed doors
Make fresh ways hard to keep

In the mood for love
But I guess old habits die hard
And this is long overdue

I love, when you unzip the layers of your personas,
letting me peek behind the mask
Revealing your raw edges
allowing me to be your haven from the world of facade.

I love, when you strip down your heart, 
unfold your thoughts, 
share your inner struggles
and pour your secrets into my ear
allowing me to be your sanctuary.

I love, when you lean your head on my shoulder
let my hands hold yours
and you let your tears flow
allowing me to be your solace.

I love, when you’re vulnerable and raw with me
making me one of the very few of those
who knows the darkest and brightest part of your mind,
and who are deeply embedded in your heart.