He loved with the cruelty of nature
growing like ivy on my heart;
I'd cut him away but he'd only return

He nestled in my branches
making a home out of my rotting shell,
forgetting home is where the heart is

He said "destruction was a form of beauty"
So he pretended to be reborn a hurricane
Firing open doors better left closed in his wake

At times, it was better to hide from him
Wait out the storm and pretend
everything was perfectly alright

Then when it was all over
He'd kiss my wounds,
grow flowers from my dying veins

But not so long after they would wilt
because even the sweetest of things
couldn't survive within our own toxicity.

lately happiness seems to come and go
like a lover who bores easily
as i don't offer them enough to stay
while the depression always returns
like an abuser, it's fists made of ravage fire
masquerading loyalty and love i know is insincere

A well dressed man holding
the classy lady's hand, walks in Paradise.
So he thinks.
Head up high he's visited by a passerby, as she holds
an empty cup in the direction of his blind eyes.
His lady looks over her shoulder to witness the
young, and homeless cry.
She breaks away leaving him stunned.
His rich heirs can't explain what he has done.
The crying young girl weeps no more.
The classy lady holds her in her once emptied arms opening
a new door, as they both take "Footsteps Into Paradise."...

You
        may
               be
                    in
                       my
                             dreams,
                                          but
                                                you
                                                      are
                                                            not
                                                                  of
                                                                      them.

Darling, you are the moon, and I am the tide.