I've never had a fistful of love,
because my fist is too full of dirt
from digging graves.

And the greatest fist I've ever known
is the one leaving bruises all over my insides.
But that fist has graduated
and been granted tools to be used as weapons.
And my insides which were once diamonds,
are now nothing but sawdust.

And I can feel the knife.
I can always feel the knife.

And stab me just for kicks
because it tickles my fickle chest
and makes me feel like I'm living in a French city
with a quick and fickle tramway system
that can take me anywhere I want to be.

But instead I'm always going to a town
a mere hour away
and sitting in traffic
in a stuffed automobile,
wishing I was where the trains are.

Because the trains that have always sang me lullabies
whisper melodies to me all the time now,
through smoke and haze and swirling lights.

I can feel the knife.
I can always feel the knife.

Call me Miss November
because I'm the first snowfall after the best time of year,
and I cut the world with my icicle sword of a soul.

Can you feel the sword?
I hope you can always feel the sword.

And I will leave and the world will be warm and happy,
and upon my returnal,
I'll give you beautiful sweater weather
and stab you with my icicle sword when you least expect it.

I can feel the knife.
You can feel the sword.
It tickles.

Me and Miss June sing a sister song,
making harmonies with our weaponry.
My icicle sword, her scalding torch.

Just call me Miss Emmy Lou November.
I'll sing a duet with you and depart for almost forever,
and leave with my sister, Miss June.

Wake up.
It's November.
I'm here.
Wake up.
I won't be here for long.

I was born red all over.
Never knowing if I'm meant for love or anger.
But angry leaves fall in November,
getting their revenge.
But nobody listens to anger
when it's falling to the ground so gracefully.

So come to my November house jam
and we'll all be angry and loving
and cold and happy and dreading
the latter end of my company,
and I'll be wishing sister June was with me.

I'm a blackhearted lover.
I'm a blackhearted grave digger.
I'm a blackhearted skinny lover
with skinny arms that'll never be able
to cover anyone from my frigid aura.

Each day I eagerly await your returnal
Even though I know deep down
you'll never
Come back
This town's just too small for
Your ambicious soul
You are always ready to spread your wings and fly
And set out and search for what your
Heart really longs for
You were made for great things
You can do anything and everything.
You'll always be my favorite mistake,
And I'll always be that stupid girl
That you never could have truly wanted
Even though I tried to be what you
Needed.
You were in a hurry to start living,
I was in a dream cloud, distracted from the thought of dying,
We were in two different worlds
I was a child,
You a young man,
And I expected too much from you
And I was broken
And I'm sorry I placed the blame on you
Because it really always was my fault
My wrong doings,
I wish I could re do this all
But now its far too late
You are long gone
And I'm still here

comparing you of such two separate things,
seemed to leave an everlasting crazed effect on my mind.
you left me searching for days,
ink contained within this pen
spilling in the depths of my mind
all for the simplest of creative comparison
to emerge from my chest.
Not to leave me with this deep regret
splurging from my spine.
hoping to have these words come across the tongue
like the images stuck behind my lips.
hoping the words I mutter before you
align to the fullest of my reoccurring thoughts:
It is mythed out to be,
that the silliest of all things named the bumble bee
is a gift well given.
The sweetest provided taste
mixed deep within your tea.
A sweeter taste,
Not known to man.
How hard the bee works,
all for the tea you drink day by day,
is there a thought in your mind
wondering when will it fade?
Comparing events with your actions,
Easier than that batter of the eye
Comparing yourself to your actions,
No words will ever be able to sum up the emotions
that you’ve spilled inside of me and left the mess.
Here are some words  may regret:
Sometimes upon listening to the bird out near the window,
I would seem to of heard your voice between their calls
That soon turned into their dearest of songs.
The bird in my opinion,
Which is never recognized by the wise
Seems to be one of the loveliest creatures,
I ever did see.
Unappreciated by some,
Noticed by next to none.
The way they come and go,
No warning just sudden betrayal by the ones paying notice,
Keeps me in wonder of why a return at all ever surfaces through their mind.
Much like you to me,
Why a sudden go
Shorts out all the matter,
Leaving the return you present me with,
All that’s on my mind.  
I say this because I heard by a few,
How lovely the birds sound in a spring’s earliest day.
I compare you to the birds because after a while,
we pay next to none of a care,
the beauty of the returnal,
and the saddens that should fill us in their betrayal.

My whole life, I wanted a rose.
I pictured it always;
A thorny red rose.
Then you came along,
And you gave me that rose.
But it was purple and black
And not at all what I thought.
But it was indeed,
Exactly what I want.

You define my dreams,
Turn blue hues red.
You rewrite my days,
Bringing me back from the dead.

You're a nexus point;
Safe harbor for my soul.
You're my central light;
Guiding me through the world.

You're the starting point;
The Alpha and the Omega.
You're the ending point;
The same returnal home.

You're warm sun rays on cold winter days,
You're the salty wind as the waves roll in.
You're a starry sky lighting a cloudless night,
You're my rose,
Come any disguise.