his eyes glared at my soul
wondering what dwells inside
or how it would shrivel
after the rigors of winter

his lungs and liver
were worn out
every after sky scrappers
were created

he walked everywhere
wearing his belief
that two people
are only meant to last
for a few bottles of beer
two shots of *****
and the human bodies
are not made for the long run

i'm building the walls higher
than it was since the last time
every time i realize
that this could be it
this could be the daydream
but could also be the nightmare

the ice sliced the street while counting the paced steps under my breath. we're all here for the temporary feeling — the things that kept us alive, the books that were written, the songs that were sang. your demitasse of cold coffee and glass of sangria with fruits that was drenched in the cold blood of wine. the intervals of your horrible sanity, the tingling edges of your pulse and the pain in its very unusual degree. the infinite possibilities of what can be taken away from you until you actually run out of things to write about or realizing that nothing is meant to last for more than lightyears away in time.

we all wrote about taking risks
holding tighter on the rope
enclosed with fear
wreathed with high hopes
and boxed with it's bitter end

we were at the table edge
you approached me first
and i said yes
you puff your cigarette
in a different direction
and i thought it was kind

we kissed a few bottles of beer
with a slight throbbing
under my first tattoo
which was caused
by you or the alcohol

i could't deny that your soft skin
subtle eyes
and your eavesdropping ear
were like thin threads
that sewed a part of my skin
i always hoped for you
to be part of

i want to see you in the same room
under the same light
i want this to happen again
but oh, i am just a girl
and you are just a boy
hopelessly gambling
our ways to forever

It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.

we met only every midnight
by the dark sea in moonlight
where the driftwood pile
of our common heart ache
was put on top of the other
to burn it down
and mourn for a little

we had too much whisky
with a decaying *****
pressing our nicotine lungs
staring at the hopeless fire
and stepping on the dark sand

we belonged to no one
and no where
the earthquake vibrated
our empty soul
leaving the driftwood pile

with the thin air
the warmth of fire
and the sentimental shore
that night we planned
our tender demise

you could walk a two hundred mile trail
under the moonlight solace
or sit on the most profound corner
of your black hole
spend two hours on what ifs
and contemplate on why nots

write about the people you loathe
and sing to the people you adore
you could do anything
and be anything

but whatever i am or whoever i was
was a residue left on your christmas plate
lingering in the dark halls of your thoughts
and breathing in your monday day dream