How I tire of only going on planes
      To travel to places where all I do
Is follow the directions of a sickly sweet travel book
       Picked up from a bookstore that has never been anywhere.

How my eyes hunger for new places
    My feet to be numb from too much walking
My lips and tongue ache to speak with new people
     And my being longs for new experiences in a strange land.

Were that the butterflies in my stomach
       Could grow teeth so that they could break free
I would rein them in with rope woven from my hopes and dreams
       And follow the horizon until I find the right place.

Somewhere adventure is out there
        Waiting for me.

These words are for me,
For I'm the one who's hurting,
I'm just healing myself.

She was once a lost soul,
Lost in this dark place where she once felt it even hard to breathe at times.
She wanted it all to end one day,
She could no longer take all the pain and pressure she was feeling.

Suffocated with doubt and anxiety she was all alone in this dark place,
No one to turn and talk to,
No shoulder's to lean and cry on.

Flooded on the inside with emotion's and tears,
When she just wanted someone to take away all her fears.

So some years passed by she met this tall handsome guy,
Loving and caring with big gloomy luxurious eyes.
He promised her the life she deserved,
Without her knowing he would be so conserved.

He grounded her with tenacious love.
As he continued to rescue her from this mysterious fantasy,
He began to realize she was his ecstasy.

She swam all over me
and I was fishing in her dreams
and I was fishing in her jeans
for change and sunken treasures

with her pale skin and scales
she sang of the primordial sea
and swelled of the deep
deep inside the levis thin
this leviathan
groaned with pants and moans

and I was finishing in her dreams
and I was finishing in her jeans
So I swam away from her
into the belly of the beast
and she sank
beneath the waves
and left me
in my wake

The incredible guilt,
I have for telling you
Deathscsweet seal
Is the hardest cross,
I've ever had to bear.
Incineratorin,
slowly in silence.
Burning like the Matches
only speak.
This course is speeding up my hour glass.
A little too fast for comfort.

She was nyctophilia;
In the darkness,
The moon and stars was her Nakama;
She could hear the stars whispering,
And the moon comforting her.
As she licked her wounds and drowns in her own sobs.

In the darkness,
Her room becomes her hermetic fantasy world;
One where her cries sound mellifluous,
One where her wounds look ethereal
Her pain was considered tacenda,
But in that little Universe, she built,
She was rebirth – with each heartbreak.
She is a philocalist - a Lunar Pisces