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.

Are you an overachiever?

They call us the cool kids.
But they look straight into our eyes with that stare.

That stare.
Smells like jealousy. But sympathy it is.

Dear the softhearted:
Sympathy won’t come.
Mourn this day
and drink its poison,
leave the ones disembodied
to haunt and garrotte.

Dear the kindhearted:
Forgiveness won’t come.
Stand thin, bloodless.
Who’s waiting at home for you?