Breathe me in like your last cigarette,
because you swear you're going to quit,
as the smoke swirls past your head
and heads east.

Drain my cup like the last coffee
you pour yourself, even though it's 11 pm
and you really should go to bed soon
because you never sleep enough.

Color between my lines like you tried
to show your little sister, when she stole
your colored pencils and scribbled
all through your sketchbook.

Give me the kind of attention you give
sunset on the beach,
because someting about it makes time stop
and brings you peace.

Love me,
even though the only time you ever thought
love just might be more than a façade or a con
left you detached and empty.

Love me,
because I promise
I'm already trying
to love you.

Time,
and time being our greatest asset
what do we do with it?
we
pass it around like a bag of
Maltesers,
it eases the pain but puts time
out of joint.

Let's face it
if
time is curved like space it
comes back
doesn't it?

Don't we recapture those
moments when rapture was
moments away?

Play time
school time
home time
work time and time
to grow old
with a mouthful of
chocolate.

Build castles with the stones they throw at you,
so that the pebbles are rather stepping stones to
a much more ambient skyline of your life...
grow a wild flower out the dirt they throw at you
of such a flamboyant bloom rather than gloom,
construct a bridge with the stumbling blocks they create
then match ahead like there wasn't a speck ahead of you
and of the **** they put you through make manure
to boost the crop of your seemingly impossible dreams...
It's about you, words hurt, people hurt, dreams fail
hearts break apart and folks throw dirt
but none of these will ever affect you as long as you
never let them do, stumbling blocks are tinted bridges
pebbles are great foundations, wild flowers are as scented
as roses if only you look on the brighter side...
Build castles with the stones they throw at you and
they'll come asking how you managed to achieve
great success unaware that in breaking you they made you...

are you proud to carry your father's name?
the weight of all your family sitting at the end of your title.

do you whisper it to yourself as you look in the mirror? do you search out his face in yours?
do you find the man that you remember? or do you find that man who still walks the earth?

people always tell you
"you have your father's eyes"
but even with his eyes you can't seem to find any part of him in you. except for his name.
stapled onto yours.

Dragging around a beaten up soul,
so disfigured I no longer recognise it,
it's me I know it is but I no longer feel,
misaligned with this old body,
praying for the winter rain,
hoping it will ease this pain,
when duty called it could not fight,
lost for ever in the blackest night.