I think I hate you
Or hate myself for loving you

How many breaths of betrayal
Did you inhale my dear

Let me **** them out
Let me ride the dark wave with you

I won't let you be alone
Won't let myself forget

Once upon a time
We were happy

We were more than roommates

We were lovers
Wild and free
Roaming the streets
Kissing at every corner

We were friends
Laughing at all our misadventures

We held each other when one
Was distraught

I craddled your body in my arms
And you craddled mine in yours

Our souls forever entwined
Forever my dear

But alas the mortal world
Has once again corrupted
What was once perfectly imperfect love

I cannot sleep without remembering
That you once laid beside me

I cannot breathe without feeling you
Your deep internal aching

That no amount of denying
Will convince me of

You were not perfect
Neither was I

But we loved
We loved

In a way no one else
Can ever make us forget.

I can't but think of you
When those old familiar songs air;
As familiar as the friends we shared,
Songs we once grew old to,
That played as you ironed hair.
Tensions grew as the volume raised,
As your parents worried upstairs.
Songs of innocence, songs of experience,
Were on the radio,
And you'd find a station
In Daddy's car
As we drove back to school.
Lyrics I didn't know I knew
After all these years;
No photo could make you
More vivd than now;
Songs that immortalize
Those moments of our youth.
You tanning in the sand,
Transistor craddled in an alabaster hand;
The smell of beach on you.
Lips parted as you whispered words
To the ****** burning in me.
Then you dance close,
Your hair a symphony...
Some songs I hear
Are too much to bear
Beneath a firefly night,
When nothing came between us,
But the notes of songs we liked.

An empty house
on a cloudy afternoon

If I had known
I would've packed my bags
And escaped this harsh reality

Surround myself with people
Drown all the muted silence

Dripping drops
In my kitchen sink
Wasting water
As I'm wasting ink

My therapist
Told me to write

So many times I've craddled a journal and caressed a pen
Only to find myself falling asleep
With the ink flowing on my skin
Like its trying to write something

I once woke up to an ink stain on my couch
Finally some color in this boring pastel house

An empty house
Isn't an empty home

Sometimes I forget

I almost fell asleep
before i convinced myself to write of you
and who ever knew I would write of you

tonight you craddled my mind
in thoughts of you sitting next to me
humming the same rythym that breathed on
everyones soul strings

wraped in my culture
wraped in your voice
and wraped in the man
who I thought was the men of all men
come to find
I wasnt treated as if he was so

so it goes
the story
I met a young gentlemen
who almost changed the course of my life
and shook my world
with the simple smirk of his sinful lips
the epic glare of his eye

I surrendered for a minimal amount of time
i forfited into my weakeness
and wraped myself in it
immeresed myself into something that
was out of character and insanity
or maybe not

and so it goes this story
of the days where i use to spend in the garden
the days i spent picking fruit
the days i spent alone
with the grumpy old hearts beating down on my mind
the days i spent dwelling in thought of you
dwelling in absence of you
dwelling in longing

i held my breathe
and suffocated underneath the gloomy water
and i held myself there

your look was sly
and then you intention shifted
and so did my thoughts
the glare in your eye didnt shine the same
and my hearts beat started to slow down
and catch on to its normal pace

your lips changed and with that your tongue
why did people matter
people should have never mattered at all
and maybe if you were different
it would have lasted more than a month

In this, I feel
Shaky hands that cannot type
My breath unable to catch like coats on a hanger
Chocked by garbage dispensers in mid flight

I have no one to blame but myself
For letting your smile that stabs like daggers,
Into my vulnerable organs now spilled on the floor,
all the more craddled in my now bloodied hands

You could say its my lack of conviction
or my social manners in dealing with all the more composed

Your eyes that catch mine and rip open the doors to my early demise

Yet, These intense emotions are all in my head
This lair where you slumber and never wake
because you are not really here

Your stay is that of a cheap motel fly, who zips and zaps
your noise quick and sharp

How all the others cannot see the glow that surrounds you
is beyond any words I could compose

It is known that I do, because it is I that is motionless from the amount I inject
The osmosis of emotional intake, has left me dead on the ground.

I was standing at the corner
Of Yonge and Bedlam Ave.,
When I spied a chap across the way,
The image of my Dad.

He had one thumb in his pocket,
The fingers hung outside.
His other arm craddled a book,
As often in his life.

His weight was shifted to the right,
With head cocked to the side;
He wore his cap over one eye,
Tweed jacket open wide.

He raised his head,
As I did mine,
Looked to me and nodded;
He smiled and touched
The edge of his brim,
I did the same as him.

We crossed with the light.
He passed
And went
Where he belongs;
Me, to the library,
My book was overdue.

Let me rest my head,
Upon this pillowy bed.
And the arms of the sea,
Gently embrace me.

Let me not awake,
And my fears do take.
Craddled in the beaches hands,
As I reach shimmering lands.

Let them not see me cry,
Or the dew upon mine eye.
My wish not to fright,
These sweet jewels of the night.

Let me sleep through the day,
As the pain ebbs away.
Quietly making amends,
As the tide comes to cleanse.

Let me pick up my head,
From this thorny bed.
You arms of the sea,
No longer entice me.

Sweats flowing like falls
She fell

She fell-
             inlove at first sight
From that day on
            you became her kryptonite
Your cries
            made her petrified
Your smiles
           became her home at the westside

Sundown.
Dark town.
Beneath the twinkling stars
She craddled you in her mystic arms
Singing lullabyes of rainbows and charms

12 in the midnight
Child, don't be terrified
This is not Cinderella's tale
The magic won't be gone
Lift up the dress's veil
You'll see
               - the one who fell
Your lady in shining armor
              - the fairy god mother
The one who stays
                        lifelong
         till the hourglass breaks
She'll be there
                    forever

Silently, with tiny beats,
You let me know you're there,
Amidst the fluids and the fat,
Craddled in an un-ending embrace,
I'm just waiting for the day to come,
When you'll emerge to see the world,
And we can hold you in our arms.

He has a thing
That hangs on him;
Keeps it with him
At night, asleep,
In light of day,
He keeps his thing
At work or play.
It's craddled and cuddled,
It seems to double;
He's kept it all these years.
He hides it from fam and friends,
He'll keep his thing
From now til then,
Never knowing how or when
This thing will be no more.
It's not a ribbon,
It's not a bow,
How he got it
He doesn't know.
A keepsake that he never shows,
Unless you visit him,
But you're not invited in.
He's dogged by his thing,
His private, personal sin,
Thirsting from within.
Although his cup's filled to the brim,
It's not enough for him,
And his thing.

When you find peace in my arms,
Deny chance.
I craddled seedlings to the table
By weeding.
I made undirected costume changes
And revealed a mask beneath skin.
I opened doors for children and the aged.
I played, and sang along.

When you find comfort in my arms,
Deny luck.
I helped lift the disenfranchised,
Extended deadlines,
And refused entitlements.
Causes wore away my soles
Carrying loved ones both ways.
We buried hatchets between friends.

When you find love in my arms,
Deny coincidence.
I learned from teachers
Love is manifest in sacrificess
Wrapped with obligation.
My arms are tired,
Yet I will embrace all.
And thus, I caress you.

Artists like us
Have a rare form of narcissism
In which
We think we are ****
But we want others to see our ****
And enjoy it
And when they do.
It's intoxication
To much wine
On an empty stomach
Fade to black

Growing up
My uncle had this *******
Junkyard dog
And the dog had a bear
And i was 5
And i didnt really want the bear
But next thing i knew
It was craddled to my chest
And the dog stratched
to get it back
It left a deep red reminder on my arm
And i hid it from my mom
So she wouldent know i took the dog's bear
I still have a scar there.

But look
what im saying is,
Though this is into the void
And you will never hear it,
I'm sorry.