when the moon is full so are my eyes. when winter seems to be around the corner. something dies in me. a small pach of flower's when it grows cold so dose my soul. when it rains it floods and rip's apart the nartral beauty that lyes in me the gental feeling grows heavy and horrable. what dead floweres in me is whn im dead in side

She walked in and stood by the door.
The question how are you
Had released a verbal waterfall
Of anger and insults in to the air.
Suddenly, mid-rant her eyes froze.
She burst in to tears
As her heart burst in her chest
Of reasons she did not want to tell me.

I held her close and whispered to her.
She cried her tears of sorrow
And slowly we reconstructed
Her future in to something more solid.
Then came the second sister.
She didn't want to talk about it.

She had a depth in her sigh
Of a mother who had lost her will
Who had lost hope
And lay curled up in a corner.
There's isn't much to be done now.
But hope for better days.
There were three broken hearts
Sitting in my orderly livingroom.

So we changed scenes
I walked in to the city
To meet people I've never met.
There was an infinite stair case
To what turned out to be paradise.
There were field flowers and greens
More candle holders
Than I've ever seen...

There were two boys
Who seemed to have it all
In their cluddered pach of heaven.
And that is where we found ourselves.
I welcomed myself
In to my own heart
And decided it was time for a change.
For good this time.

I knew I still had
All your letters
All the train tickets
All the e-mails and
Your baby picture.
The stuffed animals
And the t-shirts you gave me.

But there were so many
Beautifull things
Within the storage box
That contained them.
There were pictures
Of my childhood
The swimming club membership
All the attendace cards
And key chains
The metallica back pach.
And my grandfather's dentures.

Inbetween all the smiles
There was the odd sting.
I think of all the phases
I went through
All the friends and lovers
All the long forgotten parties
Still living inside this box.
Times have changed.
Yet as I lay my head
To rest on your chest
Like we used to,
You say

You haven't changed at bit. Not even a little

Maybe we never change.
Maybe what we think changes.