somehow the pieces never really fit
you said you were done, over it
and we drank together, that last night
you said you were just too tired to fight
but you laughed after a sad smile
i tried to get you to hang around for a while
but i should've tried harder, done better
you told me not to worry in the letter
i didn't know the sadness was that deep
that you were heading off to an eternal sleep
your words start running together at the end
when you told me i was your only friend
and that hurt so much, knowing i didn't save you
never really saw just how much you were going through
when you were laughing the loudest and the longest
between the two of us, i thought you the strongest
because it was always you pulling me back
when the world would grow so cold and black
it was your voice, singing a simple word
it was the purest, sweetest thing i heard
i'm sorry that i was so weak
that i couldn't stop to speak
and bring you out of the dark
your memories leave holes in my heart
if i could have those moments again
i'd try harder to save my sweetest friend

Night after night
you find a way
to get under my skin
      I have not a single ounce
      of love to give you anymore
      it has been replaced with hatred
           You don't necessarily deserve
            what I have put you through
            but you reap what you sow, *****
                I never expected you to be more
                than what you were capable of being
                apparently that was asking too much
                     So here I sit and write
                     to the man I thought I loved
                     who turns out to be nothing more
                                     than a boy
                                      a coward
                                      a phony
                                            -

I will work for food
The sign he held in his hand
As the cars drove by
Giving nothing in his can

Thinks of his children
At school learning ABCs
Wondering tonight
What food will we have to eat

A passer by yells
Get a job you piece of crap
Times used to be good
Then economic mishap

Tears well in his eyes
Because he did think the same
Now on the corner
Wondering who is to blame

It will be simple
If the sign says I will work
The pain is the same
Makes him want to go berserk

All day he holds it
He tries to think how to change
Things for his children
Get things back to being plain

Time to get the kids
Tonight they have a burger
Reaching the shelter
He looks after their hunger

Tomorrow looks bright
He has money to start with
Looking for a job
Gone is his faith in the myth

The myth that is told
If you keep on working hard
Life will be better
Living without being marred

No matter stature
Could happen to anyone
Have it all today
Tomorrow it could be gone

As the beautiful leaves
upon high bristled trees
must fall as fall turn winter

we must, as time comes
fall over and die
but we shan't do it alone-

yes... together

for we must die
and while many years shall go by
until we must think of such things

we need not mourn this fate
this ominous end, this opening gate
for just being allowed to die

makes us lucky

for the number of people unborn
the acceptance of existence- torn
shadows any number we could see

more than the grains of sand
in the sahara, and
more than the fishes in the sea

and of those unborn ghosts
are greater poets, better hosts
better scientists, never to put on lab coats

when thinking of the billions  
that could be here replacing the millions
making our existences seem small and meek

against these stupefying odds
you and I, no scourge of the gods
in all our ordinariness

well we...

we are the lucky ones.

Love is a walk around the autumn pond
My heart resides on the paper in my pocket
I almost wrapped it in a box
To leave at your doorstep

Your cologne and cigarettes stain my hair
When you wrap me in the fabric of your forearms
Lets sit on leaf-scattered grass
Hold a picnic in the middle of December
Lets bring French coffee and pancakes

Too

Much is never enough
As I tattooed feathers on my arms
They are your feathers
Dipped in the ink
From the sonnets you wrote to me
On my paper in the front pocket
Of these worn in jeans.