He is more than a hero
he is a god in my eyes--
the man who is allowed
to sit beside you -- he

who listens intimately
to the sweet murmur of
your voice, the enticing

laughter that makes my own
heart beat fast. If I meet
you suddenly, I can'

speak -- my tongue is broken;
a thin flame runs under
my skin; seeing nothing,

hearing only my own ears
drumming, I drip with sweat;
trembling shakes my body

and I turn paler than
dry grass. At such times
death isn't far from me

And their feet move
rhythmically, as tender
feet of Cretan girls
danced once around an

altar of love, crushing
a circle in the soft
smooth flowering grass

if I can not comfort you
then let me cry with you

if I can not be your gravity
then let me float with you

if I can not hold you
then let me love you

if I can not help you
then please I ask
let me suffer with you

i want to be
a mad artiste
i don't want to
contain the beast

with pills and trips
to the ward
i want my voice
to be heard

either be famous
for my art
or be famous
for breaking hearts

cut off an ear
use blood for ink
a starry sky
in tulip pink

when my death
shows up on tv
teenage girls say
i wish that was me

With hues of rose and soft scented haze
A pale dusk light recoils under my door
Her welcome shimmer I will see no more
As her piercing absence distains my gaze.

Where now will my light live long and old,
Leaving haunted corners so drafty and cold?
Will my dark desires be free to soar?
As light retreats from under my door?