Those distant leaden cirrus clouds
Do not resemble your wild curls anymore
That midnight smell of vanilla and lavender in my backyard
Does not make me want to drive up to your house and nestle between the freshly showered perfumed folds of your skin like before
The ocean no longer reminds me of your eyes
And I've become careful enough to resist myself
From diving into a sparkling pool of lies
Your voice does not reside
in the cradle of my heart
like it used to
Wine and mushy cookies
no longer make me hungry
for you like before
What actually resembles us now
Are these ashes from my half finished cigarette
Slowly falling on the floor
It's smoke that I inhale
And this burn in my chest
Along with these memories
that I regret I made
With someone like you

I will sing to you until fall deep into a sleep you will not wake up from
I will tell you everything is ok when it is not
You didn't expect it
So it never happened
You never left
And you don't know that your gone

When I told the doctor,
About how the voices in my head
Tell me to **** myself,
And how I have anxiety attacks over the simplest of things,
And how it seems that I’m constantly sad.
He said,
“Oh here. Take this.”
And so I did.
But it didn’t help.
So I stopped taking it.
The next doctor gave me a new medication.
And this one seemed to make everything worse.
So I stopped taking it too.
The next doctor told me to go to therapy,
Because that’s what people like me need.
So I did.
And she told me that I was making it all up.
That it was all in my head.
And that If I kept telling these lies that I would be put in the hospital like the rest of the crazies.
If doctors are supposed to help you,
Then why did they only seem to make me worse?
If doctors are supposed to fix the problems,
Then why did they only give me more problems to add to my list?
If doctors are supposed to understand,
Then why did they call me crazy?

I regret to inform you the battle's been lost,
we fought for our cause but could not pay the cost.
the ground is shaking beneath me and children are screaming,
I know this is real, but how I wish I were dreaming.

I managed to hide here, in an old musty den,
and within rubble and debris I found an old pen.
So I write you this verse on the current atrocities,
such inhuman hate filled with cold animosities.

Buildings are crumbling and trees and have been burned,
the world is scorched but the lesson? Not learned.
The end game approaches, the hour so fleeting.
There's nowhere to run. No escape. No retreating.

The smoke billows in and the cannonballs fly,
as fire and brimstone fall from the sky.
I hear angry footsteps approaching the door,
It's not safe here much longer but I must tell you more.

I don't know how this started, but you can surely blame,
the rich, greedy tyrants and their bloodletting game.
The foul stench of flesh, punishing as a curse,
and that's the just the tip of an iceberg far worse.

I wish I could finish, but I'll stop here I think,
as I'm sorry to say I've just run out of ink...