The words try to jump from my lips
I grit my teeth, bite the soft inside of my mouth
and whisper into my drink
I’ll be ****** if I say it first
You looked at me and said
that shouldn’t have happened to you
I know I know I know
I have exhausted all thought on the matter
The past won’t come knocking, as long as you are here
All I want to do is wrap myself in your prison arms
and forget
I’ll be ****** if I say it first
So I sing it when you’re gone
In the echoes of my house the neighbors hear
Those stupid ******* words

I washed your sheets on Mondays, a private liturgy
Their veracious nature spoke; my eyes sought not to see
I scrubbed those stains with child's hands
Until linen stripped and fell to strands
Those twisted ropes that once bound us
Turned silent traitors, servants of  lust
Denial is my cross to bear
And of the irony, I am aware
Yet do not dismiss my right to ache
My faith in you is your mistake
But know when thread unwinds to bone
You will lie prisoner on those sheets
Alone

When I'm out in the cold,
and there's no one to hold,
I just remember what I've found.
A place to rest,
nothing to contest,
no one to hold me down.
So I'll sing in the breeze,
float like a bee,
and fly away with the silver clouds.
Now I wait for the day,
that it's taken away,
and I'm forced back to the ground.

But I fear not,
for all that I've lost,
because life is but a dream.
And when I awake,
a breath I will take,
and I'll ponder the memory.
I'll savor the strands,
of what's left in my hands,
and piece together the seams.
For it's all quite fleeting,
so I'll keep on believing,
that I own everything I've seen.

So call me crazy,
call me shady,
refer to me as the divine.
I've surfed the seven seas,
I've been too every country,
I have seen the depths of the mind.
So just remember me this,
these words of bliss,
so at least I can say I tried.
Because when you're lost next,
trapped in the vortex,
It is only you that you will find.

There are many things I miss.
For instance,
I miss being four years old,
and eating tomatoes out of the Earth.
I miss my black cat Spooky,
he was blacker than the night itself,
but he died.
I miss my old house,
the creaky floors and long hallways.
But never have I felt such a deep longing for anything other than simply,
you.
I miss your eyes,
staring deep into my soul,
with love,
and sometimes killing me with anger.
I miss your lips,
puckered so tightly to mine,
never letting go,
and sometimes screaming vulgarity at me.
I miss your fingers,
how they caressed and nurtured my body,
and sometimes clenched in a fist,
swung towards me.
I miss laying in bed with you,
after tucking you in and as I watch you fall asleep,
sometimes with the television still loud.
I miss waking up with you,
rolling over to be met with your smile,
your eyes,
your hand in mine,
sometimes we're still tangled together from the passion.
I miss driving with you,
your ignorant but sweetened attempts to distract me,
and sometimes your yells of misdirection.
I miss vacation with you,
walking down to the edge of the water,
discussing dreams for the future,
and sometimes staying in all day.
I miss your mood swings,
exuberance brighter than the hottest of suns,
depression darker than the trenches hell,
and sometimes anger beyond our control.
I miss twirling our toes together.
I miss being the dumb one.
I miss you as the smart one.
I miss the love we once shared together,
the most intense of rushes,
most beautiful of wonders,
and sometimes the ugly duckling,
only waiting to beautify.
I miss the dazzling extremes of you and I.
But most of all,
out of all the things I could miss,
your fingers,
your toes,
your touch,
I miss the illusion of us,
the security of our hearts combined,
constantly reminding us we're together,
and sometimes deceiving the head into believing the heart.

Nobody cares about the leaves
Nobody cares about the falling leaves
The fallen leaves.
Nobody notices their intricate ballet
The way they twirl and float
Pirouetting down in a delicate spiral
Resting momentarily on the earth
Until a higher calling shoots them up again
The stronger the storm the higher they fly

Nobody cares about the leaves
Nobody cares about the browning leaves
The lifeless leaves.
Nobody notices their steady transformation
The way they live and die
Draining themselves of colour and vitality
As they gift us their lives, for ours
Tiny miracles of time encapsulated
Into a carefully crafted masterpiece

That nobody seems to care about.

Nobody cares about the leaves
Nobody cares about their pretty little lives
Nobody cares about their pretty little deaths
Their petty little lives, their petty little deaths.
No. Body. cares.