A drunken god has
spoke you into existence
A stolen diary that told you,
it’s a sin to return this body
even if its weak bones
couldn’t carry the weight
of your heavy heart

I know I can speak myself out of it
With a blade in my hand
standing on the edge of the stage,
I’ll wait for the Almighty to sober up
and watch me steal his role

After twenty years of rehearsal
I’ll play god,
lights will go off,
and curtains will close

Your followers will clap in awe
at my convincing performance

As I bow before them
As I fall before you

you might not
have been my first love
but you were the one
who hurt the most.

serve me a slice of pie
with a knife and two forks
and a side of stolen looks

we'll split our piece
equally discreet
severed, yet even and clean

quietly savoring the saccharine saliva
as our tongues linger over
a bite of shared sin

there will always be you and her;
her, by vows and bands tied to me in  
years and pledges  
and you, undeniably etched into  
me like fingerprints on my soul  

and i have tried  
until fingers and wrists bled raw and numb  
to scrub you from my bones,  
spread my ribs and unwind you from around  
my spools and gears, unthread you from  
my fibers, but you are too intricately  
entangled into my workings  
to remove you would be to remove myself  
and i have tried  

so fate would have me split on both  
sides of a coin, always being  
both but never really either  
together and alone  
contented and longing  
whole and fractured  
but never truly complete, one  
half always diminishing the other  

There will always be you and her

THE USELESSNESS OF MAPS

You were always
the bit

where the map creased & tore
leaving us unsure

looking through a hole
at our own big toe.

You were always
the bit

where the map was folded in four
and had to be awkwardly unfolded

just to see
where you were.

You were always
the bit

that was just off this map

ending in mid air...

...see next map:

...the missing map!

You were always
the lost map.

You were often
the wrong map.

The map that there was...

...no map of:

There are butter walls out there...
Sometimes salty, sometimes just wall

There are butter walls out there
But not all walls are butter,
And not all butters are wall
Some are circles
Some are in my sandwich

You love the butter walls
...Even when the butter walls don't like you

That's why these walls are made of butter
To cob the corn you eat
To melt when air is heat

Promise the water-bowls that cry
We'll live in the butter walls
To live a butter life

I don't give up
It's not in my nature
Even when it burns to hold

I don't give up
I ponder and wonder
If you're supposed to feel like home

I don't give up
I tend my wounds carefully
And return to fire once more

I don't give up
I wait around and prepare
For them to come back through the door

I don't give up
But maybe I should
It seems like they always do

I don't give up
Delusions fill my head
And my heart really still loves you