Grey skies
hanging heavy
winter calls
as the wind howls
through secret gaps
in the window frames

The day has become
like our passing years
not bright enough
a little harsh
and willing to leave us cold

Life has not been kind
we deserve so much more
but still
we hang in there
wounded soldiers
learning to lay our weapons low
time teaching us
there is more to life
than waging war

This day
this beautiful moment
is all that matters
to be sitting here with you
a glowing fire
warm soup
loving food
while we talk and laugh
of the days gone
days to come
grand illusions of the world
and all those things
we now understand

Sympathy
is all that matters
revealing
knowing
sharing
serving each other
with simplicity
our souls nourished
by the healing soup of life

My mother’s head had been cut open,
But she had felt the splitting since I was an infant
Crying out from my trundle bed.

Then I was sixteen and still crying out.
Let me explain;
I couldn’t express that I was aching,
So I’d tell them my mother was.

But no one bothered to ask me if she was alright.
A friend of mine told me, frustrated
That people get attention hungry
When the slightest thing goes wrong.

It’s true, I needed attention.
But I don’t know why the word is so hated
Lurched off the tongue like lonely girls aren’t worthy of
Some common human kindness.

That shut me up
So I had nothing to say
Save one dismissive mention
No one bothered to ask me if I was alright.

The worst part is
The splitting feeling didn't go away.
Her pain is worse now
That I am nearly an adult.

The sympathy for my mother vanished
Faster than the money she spent
To lie in a hospital bed,
Wrapped in a paper gown.
The sympathy for me was never there.

For every good intention there is 1000 evil uses
And for every evil use there is 10000 dead bodies there is no art in those corpses and there is no art in yours
They do not tell you about the cold ice that will devour your skin
The wails of my mother stay my hand, she is silent but it's all I hear
I don't need you here, I will take what's offered I know the deal
Let's seal it it with a kiss I can be your lateness swing and miss
You will always have your bliss, it's good to know my uses
I'm tired of your truces, lies that don't last a week, i prefer your abuses, at least that way I have some sympathy to eat

Another sweet dream stolen from me
        the morning bare no sympathy
           Each day i awake the same
      Not eager at all to play this game
          A happy face I'm told to wear
       I brush my teeth and comb my hair
       Longing to return to my paradise
  For Even just one last hour would be safice

Now you know that I’m just a borderline
I’ll kick you out when my bloodstreams flow
Even if a firm hand on mine could stem it,
I let you in only to tickle the sinew and marrow
But I love you, true, you’re my only glass case
Needing you to borrow all my pain,
I pinned your wings and made you taste
The bile of my noncommittal pendulum again, again.
Between the tumult of self hatred and desire’s embrace
That dark dysphoria you found in seeing me
Enflamed loss when I left the mire of us
Without a battle calm instilled at the seams
Allowing our hearts in the rolls of our sleeves
We are dangerous.

I've eaten my sickness
and I've no room for seconds.

The shiny, glossy shoes you wear to go outside,
and show the world how shiny, glossy your feel.
They are the shoes others will use,
to walk a mile in your life.

However bumpy, however ***** the road,
they won't feel the bumps and dirt,
wearing your glossy, shiny shoes.

Those old, everyday sneakers, they're not that bad,
the inside, shaped to your feet, years after years,
the outside a bit scarred, a bit battered.

Lend them, too, for a mile or two,
so all can feel how strong are your fee

Tell me that you love me and that you'll stay,
because time takes passion slowly away,
and I don't care if you forget my name,
but all the same,
remember how I made you Feel.

See, love is just a word with no meaning
and more than once I've been left dreaming.
Hopeless romantics can't compete
with how much I succumb to cold feet.
But, all the same,
remember how you made me Listen.

Smell the dead roses scattered about.
The petals die amongst new sprouts,
just as this, you spoke my name,
but all the same,
remember please, our Taste of freedom.

My Senses spin with unfulfilled desire,
and upon silent lips, the coldest fire.
Yet still, I wish to hear that phrase,
"I love you," more than ever these days,

but all the same,
and upon my name,

what you couldn't say
I cannot blame.

Rehashing the rare
Out with the new,
In with the old.
She's always had a thing
For the things that exude
A quirkiness and a bucolic charm
The smell of old books
The black and the white
Good ol' Chaplin, James Dean
And the Sound of Music
The Beatles, a tape recorder
High-waisted pants
And the gramophone
And a rustic old bar
With a gruff bartender
Who's off his rocker
But he'll double up as your therapist
And for the boy with the dark brown eyes
Who looks across the bar at her.
And smiles.
It's all black and white again
Except this time,
It isn't her favourite Casablanca scene
But a white screen
And a thousand particles
Microcosmic
A milieu of
Unfathomable numbers float
Through the atmosphere
Connecting her to him.
And she doesn't want that.
She's always had a thing for the old,
But he makes her doubt that.