May 1999, on my way to school on day I saw you I wanted to be with you. On the way home, I saw you again. I saw you most days.

    By June, I realised you went to our school. I felt like I knew you, but I'd never talked to you.

     In September, you were in my class. I flet a rush of hope that I finally talk to you.

      In October, I did finally talk to you. Because of a science project. Your name was Mike and you were a wiz in class.

      By January 2000, we were good friends and did a lot of projects toghther.

       At the end of June, I had changed schools. I realised that I can't live without you.

A shared cab toghther we grasp the nights end.
black stockings a well fitting suit hours have died torwards a blissful ending sidewalk's paint the
after thought as faces that  ghost's haunt other stories later I'll cast thoose stories towards paper.

Rearview glances traces memeories moved along silkend thigh.
In warmth  we cast aside a New york streets cold does this city sleep in time when even I seem worn?
Streets past my thoughts still will not erase a sense of no direction but a ending is always clear.

Above the lights apartment view downward we cast care topassion met in bed left as reackless
desire spinning yarns scattred across the floor.
A blizzrd outside seldom matches  the fire within.

Time makes us care and the effect never seems to last.
Goobye we set are eye's to a path we never seem to once again cross.
Iin bouban scented clothes tainted from the nights exploits washed clean in regert.

Maybe another night we will exist as starnger only to return to bed's now treated as tomb.
I cant imagine the direction through the door another shall fill the past's role.
Lovers and fools resemble each other all to often.

But what of the stranger who catches a nights tressure  from life's rear view.
A empty bar seats turned apon tables to sweep away dust like thoughts ive burried and broken glass.
Love like a match book is often burned up in passions and choices often given little thought.

A cab ride cross town takes such a diffrent view alone.
Maybe faces passed now can be given light.
through a srcambled haze the pen does embrace page.

Another night was the theme it's ending may never be the same.

To understand the edge is only to have crossed it at some point.
words like punches in some drunken brawl never lose there sting.

I spiral in directions and embrace every vacant streets view chasing all  lost cause but
never you.
Time has broken the clock set in stone was the nights moment i forever cast in a fools time.


                                           The end  till next time

There is a forgotten area
Where I call home
An unincorporated community
Founded to find flint stone
And like the Flintstones
We live in the past
Flashing to the water
Our lines we cast
Far back when church was the fad
And people toghther spoke
A community of lads
And decent folk

Oh the good times we had
Back in the day
The faster the water way
Is said 'round here
The less the water will be clear
Isn't that dear
An old country chestnut
One mirroring the community
All the surrounding suburbs
Love in unity

We love to be flown over
We don't mind at all
Less the people
Less the shopping malls

We love our oak lined streets
Back woods and hidden retreats
Maple, cedar, and walnut too
Oh so many a country tree for me and you

We insist to be forgotten it's true
The heartland alone with the morning dew
The people in the afternoon alone with nothing to do

How far would you love me
if I stripped it all away,
sold off all my attachments,
achievements—
would you love, love me at my most plain state?
With no strings attached?

Would you hold my hand
and tell me:
"It's okay, you're more than your accolades"?
Look at me straight in the eyes, you accept me,
and my cracks, in my skin.

Would you help me get back
the map to who I want to be—
go on the road trip to finding
my true self?

When the sun sets down
and I heal,
would you still keep me...

if I had nothing to give you,
only able to give the things
that no one ever wanted?

Would you hold my hand
while I break down
and say I’m nothing
without the things
that I gave away?

Would you still look at me as—

Enough—

Enough to help me clean up
this mess I've made?

Today, tomorrow,
would you still—
love me,
still think
I’m smart,
handsome—
even if I have nothing
to show, to give?

Would you still look at me
like i was different,
even though—
all my trees are chopped down?

Brush, and hold my hand
like nothing ever fell apart,
the grass wasn't as green—
as it used to be.

Hold my hand,
never let go
while we hike
up this mountain toghther.