Sit here on this rocky cliff precipice,
Listening to this American woman play with this French orchestra,
Directed by an Italian man,
Jamming out to scraps that were written by a Jewish man in '67,
Making such a beautiful sound wave that bowls me over in it's benediction,
Over and Over,
And Over again,
Carry me to sea and drown me again.

My family moved houses when I was young.
I was scared to start in the new school.
You were the first person to care about me
and I didn’t feel so lonely when I was with you.

You moved away when I was young.
You use to call and so did I.
We use to write and tell each other of our adventures all the time.

Then the phone stopped ringing.
And the letters stopped filling up the letterbox.

I never knew what happened to you…
I guess that’s what growing up does to kids like me and you.

Let the noise be drowned
Let the noise be drowned
Let every dream inside of me find it's way home
And slip easily,
Gently towards this world
Let me hold onto the wonder
Let me point to the sky
As my grandmother’s head tilts up
“See the moon”
“See the moon”

In the afternoon
Below a grey blue sky
I hear the chatter
Of the magpies.
And they talk in bird talk
In words unknown to me
As they bob their little heads
By the amaltas tree.
Glad I am to hear them
I listen carefully
Happy to be in their -
wondrous company

The thought of art
is a wonderful start—
to explore yourself,
your impactful part.

The thought of art
is a wonderful start—
to believe your truth,
your dreams, your heart.

The thought of art
is a wonderful start—
to show, to lure,
to grow, be pure.

The thought of art
has a meaningful part—
to show the world
your love, your heart.

The thought of art
captivates your heart
and makes one wonder—
Is this the end, or just the start?

Black, space, satiated void,
a meaty elixir, romanticised steroid,
a lens through which we see the heart,
a core, a seed where life shall start.

I hope in deepest darkest dreams,
that life shall come as godly fiends,
to shame us all and show us splendour,
our childhood may we then remember.

When stars were bright and mighty things,
more than flame in frost,
they inspired our hearts and dreams,
the gifts that we have lost.

I look up and I see them each,
looking down on me.
worlds and stories I'd like to see,
but sadly cannot reach.

dear reader
youve been up for hours
you seem so tired.
staring silently while you're crawling quietly tracing reality quickly devouring all of the star dust beyond.
you slip violently
ducking beneath rabbit holes and roots
the water rushing up to meet you
a harsh reality greets you.
fresh palm air ghosting through thine whispers of hair and the seagulls they blare a snappy tune
a cookie to grow
a potion to shrink
honestly a story
to make you think
nonsense!
you cry you bemoan you scream
where are the jokes
there wasnt meant to be any
it was ment to have a point
to make people think
the end is never the end is never the end
your twisted mind starts bickering
two cheshire cats? tweedle dee tweedle doo
tick tock
stop that clock
the small blue bunny runs far away
children with screens
implanted in their tummies
oh so yummy
so delicious
so impure
the rapture of the gods
the magic of beyond
sweet candy houses
tall angry mouses
a dream or reality
who is to say
forced joliety
joy
thats my policy
:)

she has my voice,
only sweeter;
she has my notions,
only purer;
she has my pride,
only gentler;

she knows i’m hurt,
only better.

she means well;
is it… only a spell?
she breathes a song;
only, i cannot tell —
if she yearns for me,
or only mourns for me.

to me, it don't seem;
but i know —
she's only a dream.