I here music in
my head when I
look into her
eyes.
It's like a
soundtrack to love.
A cross between
Van Morrison and
a Gregorian chant.
When I touch her wet
cotton candy lips,
I here the
oceans and lions roar.
The waves crash to
shore in my heart,
and I listen to the
mermaids song.
And in the end,
her footsteps,
and her heart beat,
and her apple blossom voice
are forever my
soundtrack to love.

I saw the dawn
**** lonely
orphans,
while bats ate
butterflies,
cats killed sparrows
and hope flew
south for
the winter.

On my way
downtown,
I've seen the
dead through
windows at the
drycleaners, eating
hamburgers with
starched faces

The librarians,
dry and dusty,
pray for rain,
as hippos weep,
hyenas sigh,
and hope
flies south for
the winter.

I've seen the strange
hand of
circumstance
wear the jester's
hat.
I've seen destiny
angry turn her
back, while potential
is wasted on
the railroad tracks.
Yeah, hope flew
south for the
winter.

If her eyes were
a street,
they would be a
dead end.
There wouldn't be
a sign.
And if I drove
into them,
all the promising
landscape
and stunning scenery
would come to
an abrupt stop.
Such lies...
Those
dead-end eyes.

In my night
terror,
I hear the pounding
of
your wings, ripping and
tearing
at my feeble heart.
It's beating,
but
barely;
bomb blasted by your
attack.
Your love is like
a stroke;
like a bloated toad.
I'm road weary,
teary eyed, like a
sunflower.
And you scream in
the darkness like a
lamb.

I long to *** in
you.
I'm like dentures
chewed on by a stray dog;
teeth missing,
jagged like a
jack-o-lantern.

Damage control is
your best bet.
I let you way too
far in.
No turning back now.
I'm like a dumb
cow led to slaughter.

I'm miles away.
You're on a
different
island.

The breakup was
the best thing that
ever happened to me.
I lost everything except
my dignity.
I escaped with my soul.
She tried to buy it with
Sushi and Thai food,
but it's not for sale.
I would rather
freeze and be free,
than die warm in her cage.
No amount of love can
fix that abysmal madness;
that car crash confusion.
Daisies withered when she
walked by.
Her heart was rotten, like
an STD, like a
fish hook to the eye.

There is a crime that
goes beyond
denunciation.

There is a sorrow,
a hollowness
that weeping
can't even begin
to symbolize.

There is a failure in
life
that topples and
belittles all
success.

When trying to focus on
life
is like looking through
a kaleidoscope,
when sounds liquify, and
odors take shape and
waltz
to sullen night music,
life must end.

Life must end because
a profit can no longer be
ripped from your
hands, your knowledge,
your punctuality, or your
dedication to
the machine.

Ever since I can remember,
I sensed the
randomness of it
all.
I fought against it
I had faith; I believed.

When the sadness strikes like
a match to my soul
and living is drudgery
and my pulse slows to 49
because the thought of
life beyond the pink
horizon calms me tremendously.
I think of our laughter together;
our churning, choking laughter,
and I smile through my pain for
a second or two;
then I gaze through the
venetian blinds at the gray
sky and the sycamore trees and
the daffodils in the distance,
and none of them are
laughing, for they know that
laughter always dies.
The heart try's to hold on,
but loses every time.