I swear that you don't have to go,
I thought we could wait for the fireworks,
And thought we could wait for the snow
To wash over Georgia and **** the hurt.

I thought I could live in your arms,
And spend every moment I had with you;
Stay up all night with the stars,
Confess all the faith that I had in you.

It's too late, I'm sure.
I'm lonely.
Another night, another dream wasted on you.
Just be here, now.

When the rain cleans the leaves, from the classroom awning
I walk to the hospital carpark, yawning.
Treading over makeshift graves for dead leaves,
I think to myself 'They've left home, they've left the trees.'
Sarcastically wondering why I can *** a smoke from cancer patients in mouring.
Constantly reading the same signs,
'No Parking'
'No Smoking'
'No Loitering
But I know I've been here far too long,
When the shattered, sick and weak tell me to move along.

there is always a cause for wantin a life nice and honest

maybe to make someone proud maybe to keep a promise.

maybe you don't like waste, like keeping your keys in

your cars ignition. we all have our reasons

mine started when i was 13 years of age

just an unmotivated teen going through fits of rage

my dad picked me up after a day of practice

and gave me news that stung more than hugging a cactus

my uncle larry died. i was filled with non belief

and i looked at my dad inviting any kind of relief

but the depressions got it and i need the stength to tell them

to leave cause they are bad guest and over stay their welcome

so months after, while i was contemplating

why the good die young, if this was God just hating

and making my life **** that's when i had my epiphany

i was stuck looking one way, i had to shift and see

that mouring his death wouldn't be allowed with

him. he'd say i was wasting the mind i was endowed with

so i got rid of my morbid fascination

and said no more truency ,disrespect or procrastination

i promised to walk the path my uncle paved

in the hopes he will be proud from beyond the grave.

I am sick with all this fumbling through the not yet darkened hours
let the anchor of the life that was be now ripped away complete
let mourning of its passing hasten and begin, and in the gritted eating of the dust
find me a solace and release of all the **** of ravaged trust
But this grey and bitter twilight, this death of death not yet
is an illness to the days that must be borne by bones my own
and every morning, in the mouring, I would find a silence still, sweet, and complete
but this unknown hesitation, this nagging fainting hope for all that was and should of been
is worse than any dying, such a thing sweet, final, and complete

So fly, vanish, disappear, depart! Leave to haunt another heart!
Go and keep your light glowing somewhere upon another set cindered coals
leave me here to mourn your parting, to let this story fade in the growing old.
Or for God sake, and for mine, become aquainted finally now with the valley of the floor
set your words to groaning and to praying and to begging in the night
and when your knees have grown sore and stiff from the bending of your will
all might be returned with joy and sweeter pain than weeping at the sight
of a prodigal returning and the end of long numb night
Until then, and if even there should ever come a when,
all is grey and dark and sick
as minute hands remind and memories sharply *****