nothing to do, nowhere to go
a little music, soon soft snow
alone, time’s zone - who really knows?

                 my little room

even when your stem has dried up
and can no longer support you
even when your petals wilt and blacken
and are carried away by the wind

i will love you no less
than when you first bloomed

the voices keep getting louder
the wall comes up too slow
there is no divison between us
her words are now my own

there's no one quite like it
the voice in your head
it tells you you're pretty
than tells you you're dead
there for you in silence
there for all the pain
it picks up the pieces
it cut out of your brain

Blank pages mean full minds,
Minds that long to tell stories,
Stories of love, sadness, disappointments and triumphs,
Blank pages mean untold secrets,
Secrets that are hidden behind walls of distrust and agony,
Agony from broken promises that were once welcomed with gentle kisses,
Kisses that were laced with poisoned lips and deceitful tongues,
Blank pages mean guarded hearts,
Hearts that are held captive by fear of being broken,
Now lie shattered on the cold, hard ground,
Blank pages mean silenced voices,
Voices that are screaming to be heard,
Heard by listening ears on familiar faces,
Faces that once hid from ugly truths and beautiful lies,
Blank pages mean nothing unless you are willing to write your story
Stories that have never been told or heard of

Pass the bottle to me,
but before you do
let it linger on your lips.
I want to taste you,
right before the burn of the liquor hits