I'm listening to the silent groves your favourite song made.

I'm packing up the baggage I carried around for years.

Soon I'll come around, waking from the dreamer's vigil.

Staring at portraits in my wallet, feeling myself falter.


Just for a moment, to let myself feel your voices once more.

Giving in to vices, one more time to feel vulnerable,

I'll keep marching on, because the difference this time?


I'll swear I'll never be there.

We're all a beautiful mess,

A canvas with a thousand painters,

Using pallid palettes for a stroke of brilliance,

And leaving the same way we all entered.

And as the tides rolled in

Sun peering at us at she woke

The dark lights falling away

I peered over my shoulder


To your alabaster image.

A queen most fair, with blade poised to serve,

A queen just, years linear on her face.

Dare she speak? Will it bring cause, for the effect?


The matriarch, by wolves, admonished.

When will her sparrow ever come,

Tasting the tears that will never end.

I've got a bone to pick with ya.

Yeah, you heard me right.

Your prenuptial presence ebbs away my will far quicker,

Than any toxin or evil might.


You feel so right, when the peace enroaches my soul.

Auld lang syne, my dear treasure in the rough.

My darling sapphire, the maiden of roses.

Til kingdom cometh.

You startled me, as if you were

Skulking about, tip-toeing like you were

Stalking around, hanging around like you were

Prowling about, shimmying everywhere!

We're ghosts
In the candlelight

We're guests
Of the starless night


Who would have guessed
We'll haunt these homes forever?

With the turning of the clock,

And the grooves on your hip,

I'll just toss your stature over my shoulder,


Just to prove a point.

And if the world should quake

And if the boughs would bend

And if the hearts would break


I'm coming back for you.

Identity, of what some of us lack, which some of us get swallowed up by. The feeling of your words, the nuances of your tone, the emotive language of your being. We're caught up in different covers, the beds we left unfulfilled, glasses left half-empty with patchwork flesh bound with less-than reliable memories. Fog clouds our vision in the mirror, bodies that feel foreign, as if the skin's innards are someone, or something else's.