For as long as I can remember, I’ve been writing
Dialogue for languages that I don’t speak.
Transcribing twisted writings of de-aligning dialects.
I’ve torn everything out of context,
Inspected it against the light,
Held it there until it burned from over exposure,
Then stitched its singed edges back into a niche where
It never seemed to fit quite right,
But close enough to be
Misconstrued as almost coherent.
And this confusion became the format for my daily
Step-by-step instruction manual.
          Rip.
          Look.
          Burn.
    ­      Stitch.
          Repeat.
For a while I found comfort behind
The makeshift ideas pieced together
With television taglines and childhood nursery rhymes.
I could count the number of times
That I’ve been caught
Slipping in certain names
Of certain people and places
That I swore to forget
On paper-cut fingers wrapped in band-aids
Like they’re next springs new fashion,
And it’s a dismal ratio
When compared to how often I get away with it.
I get away with ******
And it’s funny
How easy it is to hide words within words.
And I fall further in line,
          Repeat.
          Rip.
          Look.
    ­      Burn.
          Stitch.
I fall further in rank-and-file,
          Repeat.
Yesterdays.
          Rip.
A­ bloodline.
          Look.
The same.
          Burn.
The smell of smoke.
          Stitch.
Through the eye of a needle.
          Repeat.
I begin to confuse tomorrows with yesterdays.
          Rip.
My fingertips can testify that paper and razors share a bloodline.
          Look.
I can’t see a change, I’ve rearranged every alphabet and they all seem the same.
          Burn.
I think I’ve grown accustomed to the smell of smoke.
          Stitch.
I stop denying that I’m fitting my whole lifeline through the eye of a needle.

As daylight shines bright through cracked blinds
I realize that, now,
Instead of counting subliminal messages
I’ve been keeping a tally of every time I blink
So that I’m aware of each moment I miss while
Hiding behind blackened eyelids,
And I am drowning in debt.
So I pull tight the drawstring on the window shades
And let my skin soak up the sun
I notice that where the mountains meet the sky
Seems so much brighter than it’s described in the words
That are now scattered across my floor.
But like exes,
Old habits have a tendency
To call you beckoning back
When you finally find breath again.
I found breath again,
But just as quickly staggered in reverse to
The familiar feeling of paper
And my hands do what they’ve been trained to.
          Repeat.
          Rip.
          Look.
      ­    Burn.
          Stitch.
But my eyes are fixed on the horizon,
They start setting with the sun.

          Repeat.
I begin…
          Rip.
My fingertips…
          Look.
I can’t…
          Burn.
I think…
          Stitch.
I stop.

Secrecy, how deep can the loyalty really be kept? In what moment is trust broken? Faces walk around so carelessly speaking stolen words they claim for themselves. All moments are being taken for granted is one may not realize their fighting destination. The meaning of life or death is different to many, where do we all meet? Or do we ever? There’s a very thin line between idolism and jealousy, when vain overpowers, it is then crossed. Love of family seems overrated to those who don’t have much to show for it. Young innocents become ***** at the thought of being helpless. Alone. Alone at last. Alone again. Alone day after day. Alone, hope rests between the eyes of each abandoned soul that walks the unknown house of which they wish was a home. Transforming every morning into something deceitful that burdens the ones who cared. Nights began repetitive notions that confused all that in the way, particularly ones’ self. Footsteps suffocated heavily, each step walked towards the past of the future. Thoughts filled with overwhelming disappointment, self-worth disappeared from confidence found deep within. Insecurities frightened to display beyond closed doors. No one knew the but all had knowledge, released inabilities throbbed from hand hold to hand hold. Embarrassment ponders the insides of beginning relation tolls. Wells ran dry of golden coins that sprung from a stronger meaning only the owner would have known. Skeletons quiver at the caterpillar sprouted from the once apprehensive butterfly **** and trampled on by humiliation. Zen became an escape of dreading weaknesses that were always sought. Sinking and sinking, vindication lost its power. Sinking and sinking, serenity was much further gone. Sinking and sinking, all faith tugged the threads that were already broken. Drowning minds spoke all the same, “please don’t let me fall.”

I never thought
I would've locked away a flower.

I never thought I would
Trap such a beautiful creature of nature.
The humongous red petals
Stained with water,
Attracting such a wide diversity of insects.

I had always believed that
Gorgeous things should be set free,
So it could live to it's fullest.
Spread out wide in the open.
And so,

I never thought
I would've locked away a flower.

Yet my marvelous mind encaged a
Beautiful beast,
An imperfectly perfect plant.
Locked it away for years and
Hid it so deep in captivity that
I could never have found it
And I would never have found it

Until now.

Years and years and years on,
Since the flower did first bloom,
It's scent has finally found me and
So did Understanding.

The pungent stench that
Reeked from the Rafflesia,
It slowly seeps into the present
Drowning the pretty world with
Pests meant to pollinate it's seed.
The truly gorgeous flowers slowly
Wilt away as

Evil
Ovethrows
Everything.

I once locked up a memory so tight
I never ever found it,
But in the recent days,
It came slowly
Then like a tidal wave:
Crashed down on me.
The shame just filling my heart.
Killing the not even alive.

I never thought
I would've locked up a flower.

But now I wish I'd locked it back up.

i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs.
i could feel the ocean wrapping careful hands around my limbs,
caressing my thighs with soft seaweed,
my hands with gentle current.

i could taste salt on my lip,
the way a first kiss with a new lover settles and stains on the skin above your tongue,
i could taste the care the water was taking in taking my life.

taking it's time, the ebbing ocean snaked across my midriff,
hands on waist, wasting away at skin with salty touch as sandpaper
scraping away at my sense of self

i dreamt the water changing pace from calm glass coffee table top,
held flowers and coffees and your feet and mine,
overlapped and intertwined
and into
undertow,
pulling your hand from my waist
and your salt from my mouth

i dreamt that i saw nothing,
felt nothing
but your salty sandpaper hand scraping skin across my collar bones
as you pulled your coral reef body away.
the glassy water turned to pavement
and you left me in rapids under black ice.

i had a dream that i was trapped under ice,
with children skating on top
and i couldn't hear or breathe or scream
but i could feel their skates on my insides
they cut my hair with their blades
and as they spun in circles above me
i spiraled further into the depths of an ocean
that felt more like a fire.

i had a dream last night that there was water in my lungs,
and it hurt less to breathe then
than it does now that you're gone.

i never thought about how it would feel to cough the water back up,
until i realized how much it hurt going down.
and i was never scared of the ocean
until i saw it's vastness unescapable
it's arms
unrelenting
and it's love
everchanging
and i realized nothing's everlasting.

i was never scared of drowning
until i woke up puking the water i drank before bed.
and realized there was nothing more in my stomach
but salt.

Loving the breeze
Finally at ease
With the waves singing
At the shore

The sound of the tide
Matches my smile
Helping me sleep
With its lullaby

"The sea is so vast"
"It seems so dark"
But all i do is laugh
As I drown inside

A tear escapes
With the weight in my chest
But maybe it's just the salt
That fills my breath.

holding onto you
is like holding your breath
sooner or later
you won't be able to breathe
you will just be gasping for air
or you will suffocate yourself
but letting go of you
seems impossible
I don't know if I can
I don't even know if I want to
I am still in love with you
I just wish you were
still in love with me
then maybe
I could breathe again
and I wouldn't have to just
hold onto you
I would have you

[bnm]

I take a moment,
I close my eyes.
Darkness overcomes me.
There is a slight breeze.
My hair is blowing about my face.
I hear distant wind chimes.
The chains rustle in my ear,
As the wind sways my swing side to side.
A siren is heard.
It gets louder as I listen.
But I know a chain link fence separates me from the street.
From reality.
I smell the familiar smell,
The smell just before it rains.
I smell my neighbors smoking ***.
I hear the yelling they always do.
I block it all out.
I take a breath.
I let go of the world.
A cold wet drop hits my cheek.
Another hits my hand.
I don't hardly feel them.
The gates of the clouds open wide.
My body damp,
My cloths heavy.
Thunder echoes throughout the air.
Leaves above me are whipping about.
Someone calls out my name.
They are too quiet to be close to me.
My eyes remain closed.
I do not call out back.
I'm drowning in my own tears,
Washed away by the rain overwhelming me.
I let go of the chains I've been gripping.
I fall through the air.
Mud, it's all over me.
I don't dare open my eyes.
I lay among the leaves,
Scattered in the muddy puddles.
I feel nothing.
I lay.
I listen.
I hear crunching.
Someone near me walks through the leaves.
Fingers grasp me.
They pull me to my feet.
Hands shake me.
I will not open my eyes.
Arms wrap around me.
They pick my tired body up.
My father carries me.
I know not were we go.
But I shall not open my eyes.
Not now.
Not ever...

Sometimes I just wish I knew,
how to keep you happy,
without dragging myself down.

It's a constant cycle,
you're drowning and I'm a lifeboat,
but someday I'm gonna need,
some space to figure myself out,
because right now, focused on you,
I've completely lost track of myself.

Sometimes I wish I knew,
how to keep you and your cerulean eyes
from drowning in the pain that,
weighs you down.
But now I'm focused on myself,
for it's something I've neglected,
for a long while now.

I'm done saving you from the demons you refuse to shut out.
It's time for you to help yourself.

When we first met,
I waded in the idea of you
Like a tide pool.
After we first kissed,
You became a steady stream
That swept me off my feet.
But now I'm drowning in the
Thought of you like waves
Thrashing against a reef.

You don't even ask questions, you stuff answers into my mouth.
You don't give evidence and I believe in your lies.
You pull me down into a slur of words, drowning me into a conversation that never seem to end but starts worlds.
You Pierce me with a knife.
You cut me up into stitched pieces.
help me, and you say "no one cares."
You threw me out.
You kick me out of my own mind.
You close the door.
You keep me out.
You stone me with fire and ice.
You let me keep the burden all to my own.
i can't keep up.
i am broken apart.
just please, give me a moment, and then we talk?

And dreaming of Inisfáil, I was raised on Bolivar Pond.
Sheltered in my wake, I’d coo as the dewy’d morning dove
   And fern in my bed, I rose to greet
       The song-splayed sounds of light
   And work, I made it dropping slow
Bright in the summers swoon, I was adorned in forest eves
By rings that rang from tree to rook, and flung the wingèd down,
       Brambled in bay, garland in violet
   When blades could ***** and not make bleed,

And I was brindled by the moon’d many shades, that liken
To a brook, and mottled in my main, noted among moss
   In that glow, once knighted we must serve
       Wood, let me comb in peace!
Colored in the mantled cloth of leaves
And bonny and red, I was the brave and the boon, the deer-
Ants learned me, and herons stood muck, on stands spearing all mite
       And the vernal song sang lowly
   Swaddled in azure’s unfolding dream.

At each turn was a season, nascent life charming in marsh
Forays that brimmed the hollow rood, in clover yards, I saw
   The lilt of bees, sallied in clearings
       Brown as the yellowed beech
   Colored in sounds that beat the heart.
And forth into the field I sprang unto that shedded loam
And high was the sail that bellowed the raft that raked my pond,
       Bullied by the har-umph of frogs
   I rippled, rowing cat o’nine tailed tunes.

Windy and free in the hollowed bark round the ****** bay
I trailed the bear sniffing ****, heard the hoo of a swooping vowel
   And wild in hare, dug the fox-hole up!
       Damp fires hailed the rising
   Moon, as fire-flies dinted the troutling pools
And nothing I saw in my drowning sun could nettle or thorn
My piney ways, nothing could rot my wood-craving ears
       For the kestrel’s qweet-a-quee rang holy
   In the skunk-flowered fields of Bolivar Pond.

Is it possible for heartbreak to cause physical pain in your chest?

I can feel it burning,
scorching
its searing pain
deep inside.

How am I supposed to breathe when I'm weighed down by it?

My lungs try to expand
but,
they get stuck.
No air comes.

I don't think I will ever find another who cares like you do.

Your love suffocates me,
I am
floundering and
drowning in it.

I know that when I end this, I will never feel love again.

How is it
that even though
I'm the one ending it,
I'm the one broken.

I asked you straight to your face, how was it so easy to lie?

You lied to me
over and over
time and time
again.

I knew this would never work, I ruin everything I touch.

We should have
just stayed friends.
Nothing will ever
be the same again.

I may be imperfect and flawed, not worthy of much.

I expected more from you,
a self proclaimed
knight
in shining armor.

You ******* this one up, my darling.

I miss my best friend, but I won't rely on your devotion
and misconstrued idea of love.

I’m uncomfortable with a crowded room
partly because there’re so many personalities mashing into one
and too many conversations being held out of spite
i’m restless to the idea of meaningful small talk
because I truly do not believe in it’s existence
no one is happy to be here
and we’re all drowning our sadness
in different ways that no one would ever know
we're forcing ourselves to become one
and I will never understand

It’s the mornings you wake up and the heaviness of your eyes are nothing compared to the heaviness in your chest. It’s the moments throughout the day you’re surrounded by all that love and adore you and you are still drowning in the loneliness. It’s the nights you lie awake wired with a megaphone prompter set to the highest volume in your skull repeating all of those thoughts you swore you’d never say aloud. It’s the seconds, the minutes, the hours, days, weeks, months that you feel as if you feel nothing in attempt to feel everything and you’re trying so hard to get to the surface of land while you’re drowning in the middle of the ocean, too heavy to swim. You see where you want to be and as you move every joint in your body, you’re going nowhere but down. Down. Down. Down to the bottom of your heart, down to the bottom of your stomach, to the bottom of your toes. The fuzzy feeling of a television on the fritz the black and white static going in and out, the blurry vision of nothing while all is in front of you and yet you are still sinking, drowning like the fish that can’t swim, you’re still watching that grayscaled fuzz and listening to the muffled up noises on the television that you can’t clearly make out while the remote is in your hands. That’s the worst part about it. That’s the ugly truth of it all. That our struggle, while it entails pain and chaos, we have the controls to change them. Our stories are complex. Maybe we can’t change the characters or the rising actions. It may be possible that the ****** is our of our control. We can’t do anything about how we got in the middle of the ocean, or how we turned the broken channel on, But within the falling action of it all, we can get ahold of it. We can grasp at it, tug on it, and we can morph it into our life jacket. We can build it into our own remote controler, we can change the perception of it all. The plot twists, the cliffhangers, those are what we can encompass and embrace, what we ourselves control and can incorporate to change the story. It is set in our mind’s eye how we perceive and annotate a story or poem just as it is set in our mind’s eye how we perceive and annotate our own story. Because in the end of it all, it comes down to what we are doing about it. Are we the ones putting rocks in our clothes so rather than our floating, we proceed to the very depths of suffocation? Are we the ones that pressed the volume button on the remote in order for the static to grow higher and higher to the point of deafness? As you reflect on your story, are you reading your metaphors right, are you interpreting the imagery and creative visualizations in a way that shows beauty within the ugly, are you appreciating the art of similes and detail that you were able to create throughout whatever your story entails? Or are you so engulfed in your ineptitude to look at the whole picture as just that, with no interpretation of it all? You only read your monologues rather than the dialogues within. You sparknoting your life. Have you ever taken an exam after sparknoting a book and it’s only when you have the lines of the paper in front of you that you realize that you know nothing? That’s what you’re doing when you only dwell on the obvious of your life. You’re not searching within to fill the plot holes and answering questions that are worth answering. Take advantage of syntax. The descriptions of the water, how cold it may feel emotionally and physically or why you can’t seem to turn the channel of your television when it’s only placing you in a realm of distress. You see what everyone sees, you know what everyone knows without ever understanding. It’s the words in between that tell a reader what to feel and why you feel that way. You’re cheating yourself out of individuality and the acceptance of a resolution worthy of acceptance. So as you write the rest of your story, write it in a way that will make you content with the ending. Give yourself an ending that you are satisfied with, that makes it easy to close the book and start on to the new one- because remember, you are not the only one reading it. Be proud of your story. Give your character the lifejacket. Give yourself the life jacket.

We are a candle burning throughout the dark night.
We are an anchor for the struggling drowning lost souls.
We are the strong ready to lead the lost out of the darkness.
We are all above and much more because Christ uses us.
He knows our heart, for he filled the desire into our hearts.
So that we can become the buoy that he toss to the drowning lost.
To rescue those whom are hurting by leading them out of the darkness.
To rescue the Lost whom are drowning he toss us out to reach them.
Thus bringing them into his sheep fold rescuing them as well.

I swim alone and think,
no longer teetering on the brink.
I've left the ledge behind me,
and started drowning in an endless sea.
These thoughts they race along a neverending track,
some racing faster just to pick up the slack.
I try to clear my head, try not to think,
and realize that maybe I was better off on the brink.
Now I'm in an endless sea,
not knowing if there's eternity.
I know there's a shore somewhere.
I know there's someone who cares.
I'm away from the people who understand what I've been through.
I'm away from the people who care about what I do.
I look back on my simple feat,
no longer caring in the least.
I've left the ledge behind me,
then started drowning in eternity.

Rain-drenched
with the bad weather of tiring moods
I dream of landscapes
and shores drowning
in an abundance of sun
and simple sand-and-***** castles
and silhouettes dancing shimmeringly
against an immense horizon -
blue and blue and blue
dotted sparsely by pure white sails.

intricate patterns
modest levels
oh humble love
oh so humble

the offering is made
the small construction
of this castle

and I'm
drowning
in the mote
why must
the drawbridge
close?

always
I am better swimming
off into
cool nothingness

a little bee hermit
I am raising
my own hive
comb
by
comb

quietly away
wings flutter
unnoticed
my hope

Geino Äotsch

It's rather cold in here. So I went to check the heat ducts. They were buried beneath a tangle of lies, deceit, and old cookbooks left behind from the family that once lived in this place. It was no easy task, mind you. I dug through the shambles for days - shivering and blowing hot breath into my palms, now coated with a film of forgotten moldy pasta and an affair gone wrong. After a time, though, I finally reached them. And it was not what I expected. It explains the reasons why I am cold...

You see, it wasn't the dead bodies so carelessly crammed in the heat duct that made me cold. The mummified corpses of parents holding their children, the children holding their cat, and the cat holding a half-eaten and long rotted rat inside its stomach. It was what they were whispering. A whisper of a melody of truth that sent a chill so frigid and lifeless so far deep beneath my skin I feared I...'d freeze right inside that heat duct, forever sealed to a fate of the shells before me. It was a traveling tune.

The milk man on 4th and Main heard it as he locked the door of the lonely housewife behind him. The postman felt it resonate in his mind, already crowded with a million voices - many telling him to load his gun and end the monotony. Tears of the local priest fell as he danced to the haunting melody breathed from the mouths of the dead, dancing with his hands on a member sworn to celibacy. A nun in her habit drowning in a habit that only the Lord and the devil know about, she heard it as well and peered cautiously at the others in the convent, criticizing them with her mind knowing full well she wasn't the only one who heard the whispers.

The whispers echoed within this heat duct, within the house, the town...the world. And they were oh so cold....

I'm always in a state of drown.
I write to catch a breath
and with every passing minute,
I'm losing it.
I'm not amused by the world outside.
I live in my melancholic paradise.
I breathe in a paper carton
filled with gallons of thought.
I cannot breathe; but
I'm breathing.

How can I be thrown into the vast seas?
These limitless waters of freedom
No-one taught me to swim in these unknown waters
You expect me to teach myself

You guided me here to my doom
To days, weeks, months of confusion
You taught me to be aware of this barren land
Never to survive in it

Now I stand alone
Starving and on my own
The powerful sun watches me
As I start to wither and fade away

drowning in tiny oceans.
schiele-esque nudes
     in german poetry books.
speaking in tongues.
visiting graves
     in two different territories.
ginger cats with moonstone eyes.
****** noses
     in street lamp-yellowed alleys.

Your memories creep back into my mind
Their persistence is unyielding
Not a single day has passed that I don't think about you
I'm drowning in the lack of your presence
This longing for you wont go away
This unsatisfying, empty feeling
But I'm only trapping myself
Its time that I crawl out of this darkness
Open my eyes to the light
Stop hiding behind superficial happiness
Because I lack the real thing
I don't feel anything
I'm completely isolated
I stray away from everyone
Including myself
I don't even know who I am anymore
If I even am someone
If I ever was someone

❝ ❞

     I was drowning in pain
     When you came.
     They aroused my fear
     And you wiped those tears.
     That moment of us
     Made me feel secure
     Even though we don't know each other.
     I shared my stories and you listened
     I cried all the time and you hugged me,
     virtually not literally.
     'Cause these happened in RPW.
     You became sweeter and sweeter.
     We became closer and closer.
     As the time passes by you still there
     Until the day you confessed at me,
     “ I'm starting to fall in love with you. ”
     I don't know but I feel the same
     way too.
     We had a relationship,
     Relationship that was stronger as
     friendship.
     But I always reminding myself,
     That once I fell deeper,
     There's a chance that I'll be broken.
     Once we fell deeper,
     We won't mind how this relationship
     works.
     Until the day of February 14,
     A day for a couple like us.
     Many friends asked us
     Do we really love each other?
     I said ‘ Yes ’ but you answered ‘ No ’.
     Those stories of
     “ I love you but it's RPW. ”
     You changed it and made it
     “ I love you because it's RPW. ”
     Once again, I became broken.

Fall deeper
And you'll be broken.
Not in the real world
But in role player world.

You got me drowning in roses
But baby its okay,
I know you will kiss the wounds
That the thorns left behind.

"oh dear
you've made yourself
all upset
you silly thing"
They say.
"don't you know
he wasn't drowning
that wasn't even
your little brother
the kid was
just messing around"
They say.
"you can breathe
just fine"
They say.

i wonder
if They know
how many times
i have seen my little brothers and sisters drowning
or falling
or crying out
for help
in a grocery cart
my mother is pushing
all crammed in
while i sleep

...well...
i guess i'll wonder
when i can
breathe again
hello,
little white pill
make me
feel
better.

now you can see me
being wasted most time drowning into nothing
cut off the world
i become a queen
A pioneer

almost forbidden to the Old Age
where the summer days collapse
into the sounds of New Illuminati
The sparkles

no one listens
and everything is
pulling me out to see the mercy of the death
hidden by a gentle gorgeousness on this autumn

i started sobbing in agony
it has been robbed of my nature

outside
on the centre of a great shadow
lit me up before i come undone

from written on first page
bloodless,
brain gone,
shadow walked in,
scars on my wrist
down in the middle
a rainbow is
sizzling on the wave

i will be on the empty page and trying not to
cry no more 'cause,
all broken homes
is evacuating from the rainbow.

falling pieces in the sky,
that's what i've left behind
i see you now.

Don't wait, I'm not coming home.
Someday you'll forget me
and I'll forget you.
Don't search for me,
I'm lost.
This emotion is absurdly bitter,
biting into my paper veins; gnashing.
You won't know where I've bled.
Someday, you'll forget my voice
and I'll forget yours.
This moment is a void
flooding with intangible vacuum.
My lungs are ripped open,
did you know how it feels to die?
Don't forget we counted stars
of the starless sky.
I'm drowning but it doesn't matter,
it's not like I can breathe
anymore anyway.
Don't forget you used to tell
bedtimes stories to ghosts
when you thought I fell asleep;
with your hand in mine
the way sun fits into skies
that are not his home.
The miles I've walked away
mean nothing because
I'll turn around and run to you again.
Don't forget I gifted you
the other half of my dream
because you said
you could never dream.
Someday I'll forget
the touch of your fingertips
against mine
and you'll forget mine.
I'm a kaleidoscope spinning
without direction,
shattering and falling
into shards
like a screaming avalanche.
I'm glacial bones,
someday you'll forget
the coldness of my eyes
and I'll forget yours.
The azure of the sky merging
into orange of sun
is only because
they've learned
to be together
and conjure another color.
You and I are oil paints
splattered on black canvas,
a dark vastness
they can't measure.
Someday I'll forget
the number of your scars
and you'll forget mine.
You're stubborn and beautiful,
you'd say you want to take a dive
into the clouds and fly into cliffs.
We're inverted images,
never fitting into each other.
But you're in the mirror
and I'm stumbling into the void.
But you're eyes are still cerulean blue,
mine are still emerald green.
I'll never forget
the soprano of my voice
melting in the tenor of yours.
I'll never forget touch
of your fingertips
through glass doors
or concrete walls.
You'd forget that I still remember
when you told me I'm so deep.
I'm so deep, I drowned you
and you're still gasping for breath,
even after all these years,
I'd know you'll never forget
the precise lengths of my scars.

The rain crashes down on the concrete and my feet.
These clouds are grey and these streets are empty.
Only the sound of my steps and my heavy breathing.
Theres pigeons under this bridge and dirt on my lips.
The rain in my toes through the holes on my soles.
I should feel like I am drowning.
But I'v got nothing but love and truth to be told.
Only change in my pockets and empty roads.
Nothing but cans and a pair of boots.
And I am getting so lonely.

Iv got a gypsy soul and a story to tell.
But nobody wants to listen.
I don't need change, I don't need your clothes.
I just want my story to be told.
I got a Gypsy soul and a story to tell.
Full of strength and wisdom.
I don't need your food, I don't want your sympothy.
Just sit down and listen to me.

The rain on my shoulders and the Thunder hanging over.
A picture in my pocket of my once special lover.
All crumbeled and torn like the paths I have chosen.
But I would follow them again.
The fading fog in the moon and the bright street lights.
My hands in thee air to cover my swollen eyes.
If I had a choice to turn back the hands of time.
I wouldn't change the decisions I made in this life.
Now will you listen to me.

*Iv got a gypsy soul and a story to tell.
But nobody wants to listen.
I don't need change, I don't need your clothes.
I just want my story to be told.
I got a Gypsy soul and a story to tell.
Full of strength and wisdom.
I don't need your food, I don't want your sympothy.
Just sit down and listen to me.