Run rabbit run,
don’t dare say your legs are tired.
It’ll be done when it’s done
and I’ll fix to bet you’ll be wired.
Hitting a second wind,
when you didn’t even hit one.
You don’t want to be pinned
so run rabbit, run.

Run rabbit run,
the traps are set, the hounds are loose.
You can hear them as they come,
they’re tired of chasing the wild goose.
Watch out for holes and snares;
see the hunt’s already begun.
They don’t want a tortoise, they’re out for hares,
so run rabbit, run.

Run rabbit run,
they want to eat you and your population.
Bow and arrow, and bullet to gun,
control is not annihilation.
On the move in the night
and no break when comes the sun.
But don’t you give up the fight,
run rabbit run.

You’re afraid and tired,
and I’m frayed and wired.
Both strayed with ire,
both played with fire.
Different types of bait
but they tempt us all the same,
and it might not be too late
for one of us to win this game.
We can outsmart who we play,
and the challenge can be fun.
Break the rules and make it our way,
and run rabbit run.

If silence could echo, it would’ve been you;
never much one to talk.
I’d be the last one for you to go to
but I would’ve listened as we sat or took a walk.
You pose as granite,
another lonely planet

Orbiting all that glows, but ****** in a void.
So sure that nobody knows, but slipping out your signs like Freud.
Circling the world as a satellite, but you don’t want to man it.
No one should ever lose their sight,
it’s so easy to lose a lonely planet.

I’ve been thinking of what you’d know
and the places you wanted to go
and all of the life that you’d grow,
we already lost Pluto.
It’s not like we planned it,
another lonely planet.

Spinning out of control, praying for gravity,
you discovered a black hole no one else could see.
With edges that reach such height,
and no one to sand it.
No one should ever lose their sight,
it’s so easy to lose a lonely planet.

No returning, fuel burning, I think we’ve lost a piston.
You’re missing seasons, you’ve got your reasons so please list them;
why you want to leave our solar system.
Maybe you’re pushed but there’s still a pull
you may lack the will to be sustainable.
I wish your oxygen levels would stay at full.
You don’t need to live in a lull.

Orbiting all that glows, but ****** in a void.
You were right; nobody knows, why you chose to stay forever a boy.
Circling the world as a satellite, but you don’t want to man it.
I can’t blame you for losing the fight
but we blame ourselves for losing a lonely planet.

You hate my printed tees and high top shoes,
you disapprove that I still wear my toque in June.
Always saying that I ruin the plot too soon.
You don’t know your worth, you are my Earth
my sun and my moon.

It’s how you get my smile to touch my cheek,
and the way you get my knees feeling weak.
The ten things that you hate about me,
are outnumbered by the things you’re loving.

You hate my shark shorts even though they’re cozy,
you can look past it because you’re the only one who truly knows me.
I’m tripping on words, the ones you prefer
because you know I’m clumsy.
You say I’m too loud, or my head in a cloud,
but the way that I feel I’m always showing.

It’s the way that you look me right in my eyes,
and how you still manage to give me butterflies.
The ten things that you hate about me,
are outshined by the things you’re seeing.

You hate when my hair gets too long,
and when my cologne smells too strong.
You hate when I exaggerate during fights
and when I snore during late nights.

Just the way that our fingers interlace,
and how you get that look on your face.
The ten things that you hate about me,
are just quirks, you’re making it work,
as you still get to know me.

I’m driving on my way home
from a job that doesn’t make ends meet.
Pawned all my gold, silver and chrome
and placed my hat and sign on the street.

I’m living in a creative hell
One that serves me but doesn’t serve well.
Into my flesh I would carve,
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you didn’t starve.”

At each red, I clutch at my steering wheel
and scratch my lottery tickets.
Manifest a positivity I don’t feel,
when it scans I hear only crickets.

I’m living in a creative hell,
one that traps and encases me as a shell.
Preventing me from air, society and heat
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you could eat.”

I have no certifications and no degrees,
my only trade and skill are the words that I write;
the gift that both comforts and tortures me,
it’s too bad that no one pays for plight.

I’m living in a creative hell,
voicing it quietly while ringing a bell.
Begging for help but don’t want to be rude
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you had food.”

I’m living in a creative hell
One that serves me but doesn’t serve well.
Into my flesh I would carve,
“You wouldn’t be a starving artist if you didn’t starve.”

I’ve got a small house made of cobblestone,
and I have a mountain made of chairs.
I’m safely inside; withering to the bone,
and hanging onto my last remaining hairs.
I know what awaits outside my window
and I won’t open the door for anyone.
It’s not like I have any special place to go,
and I don’t care much for the beating sun.

The lights are all off, but I risk a candle
in truth it’s as much light as I can handle.
It’s solely so that I prepare for the battle
against the first foe; the lurking shadow
we all know.

But when a voice rings out
begging and pleading for my help,
asking me to simply let them inside.
I’m more worried about myself,
and preserving what’s left of my health.
I can’t prevent it, I run and hide,
I refuse to go outside.
Savor what’s left of my last breath,
today I won’t be tricked by death.

I let the stranger into my abode anyway
I guess I let my compassion get the best of me.
Emphasizing he had only minimal time to stay
he reassured he wasn’t tricking or testing me.
“Don’t you miss the trees and sun in a park,
why do you live like this way?” is what he said,
I replied “I’d rather be nothing in the dark,
instead of being dead.”
I won’t fade into my made bed.

But he’s the one that is bleeding,
medical attention he’s needing.
But I won’t let anyone into my fortresss of solitude.
Tells me he’s not trying to scare me
but letting him in was already daring,
I just can’t stand to be so cruel, uncaring or rude.
I refuse to be subdued.

He may not make it out alive
but maybe neither will I.
He shows his true colors and they thrive
as he shows me how to die.
The hand knocked and made it’s mark
but it wasn’t a delusion in my head.
While I’d rather be nothing in the dark
instead of being dead.

Someday,
these words I write I’ll eventually say.
That old guitar I might remember to play.
My dreams will find a way,
when there’s hope for someday.

And next year,
I might find I’ve lost another fear,
but along with loss gained another tear.
The words I write you might never hear.

Why I still get up and try,
I can’t lie, I don’t truly know.
But I will myself to rise,
dry my eyes and give it a go.

Tomorrow
I may create a smile from my sorrow,
while living on the time that I borrow;
goes by so fast but feels so slow.

Why I get up and try,
I can’t lie, I don’t truly know.
Because I have yet to die
make a name for I and will it so.

Someday,
these words I write I’ll eventually say.
Create colours in this world of grey,
do my best to make them stay
if there is still hope for someday.

Who is this person that I’m living alongside;
I don’t mean my girl; I mean myself.
Is there an alter with impeccable timing to hide;
a thought I think and feeling I’ve always felt.

She digs her hands into my armored flesh,
the areas I reassured could pass each test.
Instead of titanium she sees it’s made of mesh,
“I’m sorry that I’m not the best of best.”
We watched our house burn down
watched the last ember hit the ground.
I place missing posters of myself around town;
truth is I don’t care if I get found.

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?

Sometimes I feel like I’m presented as an open book,
with torn out pages and a cracked spine.
On full display but no one even stops to take a look,
missing the hidden message in each line.

We shoot the **** so incredibly breezily
but I’m reminded that I bruise very easily,
so I find a way to tap out without anyone noticing.
But it’s done just too feebly.
Burned bridges and scorched earth,
my decision to cover with AstroTurf.
Taking lives instead of giving birth,
and I’ll only strive to make it worse.

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“The screams and the shouts
show us what you’re about.”
The beast I try to tame,
but can hardly even maim.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?

I have this habit of never learning my lesson
and sometimes almost crashing my car.
It’d be tragic or it could be a hidden blessin’
what’s another addition of a scar?

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse”
“We’ll turn you into scouse,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
“A pox on your house,
but not on your spouse.”
At least they aren’t that rouse.

“A pox on your house,
you ****** knockout mouse.”
On your clean white blouse;
gasoline has been doused.
I wrongly take the blame,
and they keep saying it’s my name.
Isn’t it a shame how bad blood boils all the same?

When I’m on a bend again,
the voices in my head
throw me out of bed and put me in shackles.
The spikes are up and then
the battles that are lead
make sure the demons are fed or atleast tackled.
Memory is hazy but I swear I’m not crazy.

I hide from the feelings that crave their way outside.
I retreat only because I’ve hurt my feet.
It doesn’t have to make sense
burned a bridge and put up a fence,
avoiding dealing with a consequence.
I hide from the things that damage my pride.

I know this all sounds so primitive;
the way that I am, the way that I live.
In my face I’m always slapped
with these thoughts that keep me trapped,
forever debating fiction from fact
so I just let myself fall back
and tell myself that I am ruminative.
Memory phases me but I swear I’m not crazy.

I hide from the feelings that crave their way outside.
I run to trick myself I’m having fun.
It doesn’t have to make sense
burned a bridge and put up a fence,
avoiding dealing with all things past tense.
I hide even from my healing guide.

I keep myself up when I’m alone,
grinding teething and cracking bone
It grosses me out too, not only just you.
I’d like to start fresh, and start out as my best,
pick out a viable side quest,
and then put myself to a real test.
Memory is lazy, but I swear I’m not crazy.

Witchcraft and wine
it comes so naturally,
and now that you’re mine
I’m going to actually
try my best not to lose it.
If there’s a bomb then I will defuse it.
If there’s an offer I’ll just refuse it.
If there’s a card to play I’m going to use it.
Because you’ve got me under

Your blanket of stars and mysteries,
connecting our scars and histories.
In parked cars both sighing mystically
and back to the park where I was to shy to try anything.

Sorcery and scotch
you put me in a trance.
If you took it down a notch,
I just might stand a chance
that I’m not going to lose my head,
even with my cheeks burning red
getting brighter as you quietly said
“I’ll meet you tonight in our bed.”
Depriving me of slumber

With your healing touch and cosmic skin,
I’m within your clutch and freely giving in.
It’s too much and you have yet to begin,
removing my crutch and cleansing me of each sin.

I was warned of street magicians
and cautioned with tales of gateway drugs.
To not take my eyes off no matter the conditions,
because that’s when they tend to pull rugs.
“If you fall for one,
you’ll fall for them all.”
But this time I’m done,
I think it’s last call.

With your witchcraft and wine,
you make it look so divine.

Life’s just a riddle that none of us can answer
we’ve got some leads, we’ve got some clues.
Still the answer eats alive like a cancer,
and the treatment is something I’m like to refuse.

It was raining
as always in September.
They were complaining
about what; I don’t remember.
Reputation staining,
or maybe full dismember.
In need of some training
or my tempers need to be tempered.

It’s true you can never go back home,
being on your own doesn’t need to mean being alone.
You can gift the people silver, gold and chrome
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.

Life’s just a puzzle that’s missing a piece;
you can try your hardest to fit in another,
or you can accept it and leave the picture incomplete,
and spend the rest of your time left to be frustrated and suffer.

It was a cold December,
some would say you could smell the ice.
I only seem to remember,
the nerve of those celebrating, bleedin’ Christ.
Start a fire but end up with embers
I think a spark or light would be nice.
So I go in search of vendors
but they’re charging far too high of a price.

The nightmare had a nightmare of its own
never learned to share even though it’s full grown.
You can gift people blankets and tapestries that you’ve sewn,
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.

Life is like a flower
it blooms out until it drops.
Each day hour after hour,
until time’s ticking then stops.
For treasure I still scour
moving so fast my steps are hops,
and the floors filthy; needs a shower
but I think I’ve broken the brooms and mops.

It’s true you can never go back home,
the path is covered by weeds and stone,
and to each town and city you roam
there will be those who ask how to skin a bone.

One year down the road,
two years back behind.
Neither has a sign saying closed,
not that we would pay it any mind.
Indecision is killing us
choking so hard we can barely breathe.
I buried all of our trust
and then beg you not to grieve.

While it’s always been you I adore
I can’t decide if I love or hate myself more.
It eats me alive just like cancer
but I know and I show, us both
the real answer.

Try to illustrate your soul
but my pallet’s lacking the tones.
I tried to pay the tickets and toll
by trading sticks and stones.
A promise I should’ve kept,
but sometimes it’s just too hard,
and so I watched as you wept
just as predicted by the tarot card.

While it’s always been you I adore
it’s been the wrong side I’ve been fighting for.
I chose my tactics and my plays,
to get through that it’s true,
It’s still you
all time and always.

She says “don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby,
when you do that **** it makes me feel crazy.”
“You can’t even look me square in the face,
and you’ve always had an accent I just couldn’t place.”
She says “don’t call me kid, don’t call me love,
you took everything that I ever dreamt of
all of it is now poisoned laced,
or you tried to erase but it can’t be replaced.”

I could never put her on a shelf;
These aren’t feelings I’ve ever felt
just for anyone else.
I’m sure she knows **** well,
for her I’d crawl my body through hell.
All time and always.

I’m not thrilled of open water
I always liked my feet on dry land.
But the days are getting hotter,
I’ll have to deal with my toes in sand.

Dreams got me thinking of a sun
so hot it could toast my skin.
Stick a fork in me and call me done,
and let the feast begin.

Sometimes I think and sometimes I wish
that I had the courage to just jump ship,
and pray that the sirens
would guide me to the islands.
The water’s fine to take a dip,
do I have the courage to jump ship?
I’ll be searching for the sirens,
hoping I can still find them.

I get pulled in with currents of my emotion,
I gave up swimming as soon as it started.
Because who in this world can fight the ocean,
when it wants you to be departed?

Dreams got me thinking of palm trees,
leafs so big they create a world of shade.
Feeling of a nice summer breeze
cutting me up like a razor blade.

Sometimes I hope the fabric of reality will rip,
and that I gain the courage to just jump ship,
and pray that the sirens
would guide me to the islands.
Teeth are shaking just like my lip
do I have the courage to jump ship?
I’ll be searching for the sirens
hoping I can still find them.

I want to live amongst the waves shining
like gold paint,
but I’ll only ever find my silver lining
if I become an angel or a saint.
Yet I’ll hope that the sirens
can take my demons and blind them.

You wanted my words
you’ve wanted my thoughts,
and all that you’ve heard;
It’s my heart that you’ve got.
Love I’m right here
and I forever will be,
my lips will brush your ear
for all eternity.

I’ll bathe in your soul
and I’ll drown in your eyes
you will make me whole
and you will light my skies.
Love; I am blind
for you’re all I can see,
but I will never mind
for all eternity.

She speaks to me in poetry
in calligraphy and with cartography,
and bestows upon me these blessings;
endless dreams and epiphanies.
I correspond with you and you to me,
attached and complimenting eachother as a wave to the sea.
Upon our flesh two puzzle pieces as each completing,
Darling I could never resist, quickly defeating.

You keep each secret like a stone
before you put it into your pocket.
And I don’t ever want you to feel alone,
you’ve got me locked up like a locket.
Your luscious hair isn’t the only weight
that lies upon your soft shoulders.
And I just want to be in your future and current state,
so let me pick up and carry those boulders.

So please don’t you ever abandon me
like Lipton’s alligator soup and Altoids sour candy.

This didn’t happen overnight,
pushed all boundaries out of sight.
Don’t know their next step but it can’t be right.
Their grubby hands covering your eyes,
wicked tongues whispering blatant lies.
No confirmation for their alibis.

If a group of like minded people
can storm the Capital why not a steeple?
A sanctuary that’s built for predators.
For those who stormed Capitol Hill
why can’t they now go in for the ****?
Maybe too busy running from creditors.
I’m just so annoyed with the American void.

So many questions all over a vote;
they tried to mutiny like on a boat,
but now not asking why there’s no note.
With all those riots that were in the street,
willing to take a bullet or join the line to be beat,
no asking why someone special got an extra sheet.

If a group of like minded people
can defeat police then why not the bald eagle?
Just another symbol for freedom and justice’s joke.
For those who stormed Capitol Hill
does it not drive you crazy to now stay still?
Maybe too distracted by the war of Pepsi vs Coke.
I’m just so annoyed with the American Void.

If people can go missing why can’t files,
same with pedophiles and certain isles?
It’s funny how they gave away,
the ones we already knew what they’d say.
If people can go missing why can’t files,
same with pedophiles and their trials.
It’s funny how they gave away,
the records of JF & ML K.

Apparently there’s a minute missing every night
I guess we know when the time to strike is right.

They call them the Kings of Bones,
torching the  villages and the homes.
Saying they’re done with the ******* and moans
they’re expected to hear when upon their thrones.

So tell me is a battlefield even real
if it isn’t littered in blood, limbs and steel?
The bone kings only receive their end of the deal
if they offer up those who support them for the next meal.

So with scraped and ****** knees,
how are they to pray or please?
If our heads are always bent,
does worship even hold any sentiment?

So tell me is it really a done deal,
just like in guns, germs and steel?
The bone kings take what they want, act as they feel.
They tear all apart and neglect to place a seal.

They’re all too busy reading out of date scripture
that they’re all missing the blatantly clear picture;
Hell is empty as the devils walk the earth.
Everyone wants to rule the world,
trade gold for diamond and diamond for pearl;
doesn’t realize the reverse of worth.

Now they’re wearing collarbones around their neck,
and accessorizing every vertebrae as a ring.
Assuming this cruelty grants them respect,
really at best it’s just straight vulgarity.

But each King stands alone,
forever isolated and on their own.
So they polish a fresh bone
just to add to their skeletal throne.

I’d break into our old family home
if it was still standing tall.
Electrical cords and floorboards;
that I would finely comb.
Searching for traces of us; big or small.

I should’ve taken the tub,
and the dryer was brand new.
I know they ripped up each stump and stub
and the yellow roses the year they finally grew.

This is just a missing piece,
this is where I used to live.
Memorized the trees and the streets,
and the faces I would greet,
to go see it again; what I wouldn’t give.

I’d break into our old family house,
if it was still standing tall.
As I dowse, no sound or a mouse,
was it ever even there at all?

Why did they lose the shed?
Why did they cover the lot?
It looks better in my head
than the day it was finally bought.

This is just a missing past,
this is where we used to coexist,
those rare family moments that I miss.
They’re now lost to the abyss,
I don’t remember the last.

I’d go back in time but
I wouldn’t want to impose.
Truth is the door is shut,
realize that road is closed.

I’m sad I don’t live there anymore,
I grew up; have my own walls and own floor.
A woman who loves me and her I adore,
but these thoughts still wash ashore.

I thought I fell again into an old friend,
but it seems it was only a mirror.
I roll the dice, convinced I can pay the price,
on about she screams out but I can’t hear her.

Who’s worse, the one who steals the memories
or the one who just gives them away?
It seems whatever is remaining of me
is the only part I didn’t wish to stay.
I’ve got fingertips pressed to the temple,
pushing inward forcing it to shake.
I’ve won the battles of heart but not the mental;
my brain fires pebbles at the glass hoping it will break.

Take the path less walked on
make sure to leave no tracks behind.
Even if it ends up being wrong,
you won’t be able to change your mind.
There won’t be any mile markers,
no breadcrumbs and lacking footprint.
The hunting dogs coming won’t be barkers;
next time drop your fingernails or lint.

Who’s worse, the one who steals the memories
or the one who just gives them away?
Don’t mean to keep them in the treasuries
but didn’t expect to see them stray.
I’ve got fingertips pressed to the temple,
pushing inward forcing it to shake.
With each thought just more sentimental
but I’m questioning if those feelings are fake.

Put your foot down on the gas
say “shut up and drive”
and with each town we pass,
I’m surprised we made it out alive.
This may just be the last
time that I emotionally dump or strive.
No this isn’t confession, it’s not mass,
it’s a witch hunt in the shape of a bee hive.

Who’s worse, the one who steals the memories
or the one who just gives them away?
Turned centuries into accessories
then didn’t like how much they weigh.
I’ve got fingertips pressed to the temple,
pushing inward forcing it to shake.
It stopped being a problem or detrimental
when I laid the dead flowers at the wake.

I took my first wrong turn
when I took you so for granted,
I was so relieved to wake up next to you.
I’m so used to making my world burn,
or making sure that it stays slanted,
perhaps I should stop writing in red and start with blue.

You want to know what was my worst mistake,
it was watching your heart break
to prevent a fracture of my own.
I need to stop doing things only for my sake;
can’t eat and have my own cake,
each day is just a loan.

I see colours from and around you
but I always paint shades of grey,
we can argue that the pictures beautiful all the same.
Analyze shadows, shades and each hue,
we can always find a sun ray;
we’ve perfected it into our own type of game.

You want to know what was my worst regret,
was making your eyes turn wet
to keep my own dry.
I’d place all I own left on a bet
that it’s something we both won’t forget,
I wish that was a lie.

I committed my worst crime
based upon my biggest sin,
you’re so faithful; truth is I don’t deserve you.
“This won’t happen a second time,
I’d rather trade off my soul and my skin
spend the rest of my life held together with tape and glue.”

You want to know what was my worst mistake,
it was watching your heart break
to prevent a fracture of my own.
Share consequences from the choices I make,
it causes me to burn and ache
right down to the bone.

I long for sleep but it’s not a fan of me,
I never drift too deep, and it doesn’t come easily.
And though my bed is far from cold,
my restless head is searching for gold;
wish I could accept silver gracefully.

Oh tired eyes; you’ve gotten so heavy
and the sired lies is the shoe maker levy.
I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
to keep me warm and displace me.

The midnight sky threw on it’s best set of stars,
and yet here am I looking for Jupiter and Mars.
I start watching two satellites dance,
like in the past with you and I in some type of trance,
always in each others orbit but too fast, too far.

Oh tired eyes; you’ve gotten so heavy
and the sired lies is the shoe maker levy.
I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
to keep me warm and displace me.
Oh tired eyes; you’ve gotten so heavy
it’s no surprise when comes the shoemaker levy.
I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
none left to mourn, or to replace me.

The moon gave me such a passionate kiss
that turned from open handed to a closed fist.
Still I gave it my gratitude that the very least it wasn’t rude,
it always kept on shining even in the mist.

The midnight sky threw on it’s best set of stars,
left me reading between the lines and trapped between the bars.
Take oath with a cosmic creed, a praise I’d give anything to sing,
I’ll follow if you would lead me to Saturn’s ring.

Oh tired eyes; you’ve gotten so heavy
and the sired lies is the shoe maker levy.
I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
to keep me warm and displace me.
Waiting for gravity to come  hold me down
don’t be mad at me if I can’t stay around.
The perfect home the shoe maker levy found,
thank god it wasn’t on our ground or within our town.
Sometimes I travel just like sound,
but to the sky I’m bound.

I hope for a solar storm to embrace me
none left to mourn, or to replace me.

I swore I meant to get baptized
you ended up with my head under water,
just alittle too long that time
and it should be cold instead of hotter.
I fight against the rough waves
my arms reach out for you instead of splashing.
I prefer that method where I’m being saved
instead of receiving a verbal thrashing.

Rooted in ground, meant to settle down,
hiding under the rubble,
you’re not Sonic in the bubble.
While I’m bound to always maybe poke around
believe me I don’t want to cause trouble.
I’m not Sonic in the bubble.

I’ve always wanted a bigger bath tub
she craves to have a yard once more.
Everyday I trade both for a back rub
you ask “is your body even sore?”
I tell her who doesn’t feel some strain
and that her hands have always felt healing,
infact they cure almost every single pain
that I’ve had the misfortune of feeling

Hearing no sound, except the counting down
too far and deep in a puddle
you’re not Sonic in the bubble.
A trick I found is to always use a spin pound
straight from the knuckle,
I’m not Sonic in the bubble.

I only want the best chocolate
but I won’t pay for it out of pocket,
I expect a free taste to know if it’s worth my time.
Like picking doors and lockets
and sticking your fingers into sockets
it’s the type of thrill you don’t want to define.

A beauty that’s rarely seen,
only reserved for the May queen.
Dancing under her midsommarstang
when the time speeds up but it still seems so long.

We can share some codependency
we can share some trauma and blood.
If you were to leave it would be the end of me,
is this the type of story we tell of love?

Sadly there’s some poetic irony
of the horror when you witnessed the elders jumping,
still human enough but too lost to see
you were in the line; one day to be waiting.

Confuse possession with protection
mistake bare empathy for tender caring.
When’s the last time you felt needed affection
except for the wrong type others are sharing?

And at the very end of it all
you’ll have a face full of tears,
‘cause even a May Queen has to fall
within the changing of season in the years.
And you won’t even care
if it’s freedom or a new type of prison,
‘cause atleast someone will be there
to cry with, to hold you and listen.

She said “I don’t think I’m ok,
infact that much I know.”
She spends every single day
running against the winds blow.
When did she stop trying?
Did she even ever start?
Spends all of her time crying
as if to water a drought.

The tight rope is too tight,
and you walk a very thin line.
Another day and it’ll be alright,
and tomorrow you’ll be fine.

She said “I don’t want to a survivor.”
I tell her there’s worse things to be.
Keeps holding her breath like a diver,
but lack of oxygen is worrying.

We were standing right under the streetlight,
with no stars in our sight but those created with might.
With the cold’s bite making our skin burn and bright
saw the discomfort in my sight, “you got to clutch your jacket more tight.”

Now the pool is just too deep,
and your laps aren’t making time.
Another day and another promise to keep,
and tomorrow you’ll be fine.

The tight rope is too tight,
and you’re walking a very thin line.
But if you hold on with all your fight
then tomorrow you should be fine.

You’ve been barely living on the shelf
I know cause I once lived there myself,
denying and depriving my state of health
and doing it all while dwindling my wealth.

Many times closed the door but never turned the lock,
freeze right down to my core when there would come a knock

A broken heart
in a broken house
in the perfect dark
no one stirring but a dying mouse.
A broken spine
in a broken shell
atleast this body’s mine
I feel I’ve earned this hell

I’ve been praying for any release
or even a small hint of some relief.
It’s starting to get hard to even keep
my head above water; continue moving my feet.

I begin to see the days; how they fade away
if I’d have known I would never have shown
my critique of their shade of grey.

A broken heart
in a broken house,
both’s been ripped apart
and the flames I’ll douse.
A broken spine
in a broken shell,
I won’t say I’m fine
I won’t claim I’m swell.

I swear I’m just like the Sydney Kormoran,
peaceful illusion gliding upon the open seas.
But underneath the exterior there’s a devious plan,
you’ll be catching strays, with each blow of the breeze.
History can’t always be a pleasure cruise
sometimes it’s just a collision course,
there’s no such thing as a fair way to lose
when you’re on foot and they’re on horse.

Atleast there’s this sad sick satisfaction
that if we lost the good atleast the bad went down.
It was as unplanned as any spontaneous ****** action,
that both battleships sunk instead to where they were bound.

If there’s a story to learn besides making sure history doesn’t repeat,
it’s to keep an eye on whoever’s passing near.
They could be a savior, an angel, a liar or a cheat
but rule of thumb is to make your signal letters clear.

Maybe you were never ready
to carry a weight that’s so heavy.
If you can’t set the course,
you’re going to need to follow.
You can bring water to a horse
but you can’t make it swallow.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
From the city back to town,
from space bound to homeward.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
You scream your lungs out but even near her,
you’re always ignored;under detection.

Maybe you were never prepared
to share a burden that should never be shared.
It’s been a few years; it’s been some time
since you lodged your last complaint.
I’d like to believe you’re now doing fine,
and you’d like to believe you’re just a saint.

You have to put your foot down
to ever take a step forward.
Follow the air bubbles to not drown
don’t turn a drama into a horror.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
If she can’t move will you still fear her,
and her manipulation and deflection?

I sometimes forget Medusa was victim to a curse,
and I never tried to make it better but I sure as hell made it worse.
Maybe Athena could’ve been more forgiving and kind,
she didn’t have to leave her living, or she could’ve made her blind.
She could’ve plugged her ears
so she wouldn’t have to hear the screams
of the men who holds fears
of a woman who dreams.
She could’ve ripped off her nose
or just taken her voice,
sometimes that the way it goes
you just don’t get a choice.

But she’s a Medusa with a mirror,
frozen inlove with her own reflection.
Even if she could scream no one would hear her,
and long ago got used to the rejection.

The devil is sitting at a table
make sure to provide top service,
and if you are somehow able,
hide that his aggression makes you nervous.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
it might be time for us Canucks to pull a 1814.
How can someone do absolutely nothing right?
and think what will be a nightmare will help revive an American dream?

The devil is sitting at the desk,
and he’s got yes men to shine and kiss his shoes.
It was finally time for him to fail a test
but his misguided cultists refused to let him lose.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
even if the occupant is known to be orange.
He’s shutting the gates just too tight,
rushing Capitol instead of tearing his door hinge.

The devil is sitting at a table
he’s got the finest cutlery set,
and the legs of it aren’t stable
with each wobble he places his next bet.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
I think it needs to be stripped and gain a new coat.
Why is a symbol of oppression dressed up so bright,
when it’s walls protect one and strangle every other throat?

He “did everything right” and they indicted him;
and now we fight eachother when we should be fighting him.
These people have forgot how the world turns,
infact they believe it’s stationery and around them.
So they anticipate heat when they make the world burn,
and await a rose after they rooted and snapped each stem.

Isn’t it absolutely insane
how the free can unknowingly live in a prison?
Didn’t anyone tell you even a Hurricane
can’t cleanse American Capitalism?

Your clear crystalline perfect sea
 touches and mix with my cloudy waves and sand.
They don’t crash together with speed or violently;
slowly fit together; lacing fingers together on each hand.

You’re wearing rings of rose gold
those around my eyes are black and blue.
Both sets of them are not so old,
but they’re also certainly not very new.

Counting the weaving constellations,
counting the bright and endless stars.
I made the story just an abbreviation;
just like my cuts birthed from my scars.

You’re wearing rings of rose gold
those around my eyes are black and blue.
The weather’s been awfully cold,
but your warmth has got through.

You’re wearing rings of rose gold
those around my eyes are black and blue.
Though this may come off as too bold
but I’ve always been inlove with you.

So feed my body to the fishes,
but make sure to keep my heart around.
Like a genie it could grant your wishes
but you’ll have to endure the sound.
Put it underneath the floorboards
just like in the Tell-tale Heart,
and set a timer for how long you can ignore
the lasting pounding once it begins to start.
I’m sure it’ll drive you mad,
I’d bet whatever’s left of me,
and would it even be so bad
to add another drop of water to the sea?

My back is aching from being bent
kneeling down to write our names in wet cement.
It’ll be there for eternity, decorating the houses both bought and rent.
Too bad I slipped and messed up the hand prints; what counts is the sentiment.

I should’ve been looking both ways
before I crossed every single street.
Regardless I trip, I tumble, and I sway
I think the problem’s within my feet.

I’m tied to you like a boat on the sea
to it’s dock; bobbing up and down endlessly.
Pushed towards you from the waves crashing,
like the boat; doomed if I’m ever cut free.

I’m burdened by games of black and white
and your determined to find a shade of grey.
We could find a way to win if we could place our pieces right
but everytime there’s a loss the board get tossed and thrown away.

I was walking down the city streets
making choices like Meryl Streep,
trying to hide a weakness to showcase a feat,
or maybe just choosing direction; actually not deep.
I was trying hard to just fill some seats
almost like I had some promise to keep,
handing out both set lists and call sheets
looking for any opportunity to sow so I could reap.

You’ve got 99 problems but your loyalty is one,
you’ll never solve them now the World Cup is done.
Achieved by your colours that aren’t so true,
by a Nation that once treasured you.
Gretzky I believe your reign is through.

You used to shoot and inevitably you’d score,
imagine the disappointment of each Gord.
Keep the red and white but add the blue,
betray a Nation that once treasured you.
Gretzky; no longer number one not even two.

Keep your guns and keep your hate,
Canada’s not your fifty-first state.
We’ve always been a Country, one that’s great.

Went to a room and ignored the sign,
now we’ve changed the labels and removed your wine.
Disappointed in what you would do,
to a National that once treasured you.
The sadness and anger only grew.

An apology that will come too late,
Canada will never be your fifty-first state.
Not up for discussion or debate.

A concept you should understand,
you can’t put a “for sale” sign on our land.
The death of a legend came from the hands
of a bad man and a bad plan.
No longer the greatest of all time
after you’ve committed the greatest of crimes.

We won’t take the tariffs or the bait,
Canada will never be your fifty first state.
We’ll cement the actions and the date.

So stay in exile as is it your fate,
Canada won’t be your fifty first state,
cause it’s the one, the one that’s great.

My dad spent most of his life
singing songs wishing to be a rockstar.
“Can’t get no satisfaction” and “Mack the knife”
a handful of applause from drunks in a dark bar.

The sights I hated to see
now the person I don’t wish to be,
my potential could be monumental
if I could just turn dreams to reality.
The days of a wasted youth
ignoring a tragic truth,
I could make history by solving a mystery
if I could only find the proof.

My mom’s favourite song was “Fast Car”
but at the funeral, I picked Fleetwood’s “Landslide.”
There was no point in highlighting an old scar,
some times and places, there’s just things you should hide.

The sights I hated to see
can’t be wiped from my memory,
and what I fear the most is that there’s no ghost
that has been haunting me.
Now I get the appeal of the drink
from the cabinet or underneath the sink,
without warning, about ten in the morning
it was worse than you could ever hope or think.

My feet pushed against the white floor board
and my back leaned up against the bed.
Thinking about how the surface was scored,
the colours mix; white, orange blue and red.
In the basement with my precious; my hoard,
with the knowledge no one would know if I were dead.
Suddenly it was a thought that I explored
that maybe I enjoyed that course instead.
And to the heights I once soared,
please tell me the best days are still ahead.

Another sunrise and sunset,
another pair of eyes filled with regret.
Who’s waiting for hope and luck to arrive at their front door,
but even if it came who’s to say they wouldn’t still expect more?
And would we even cast any blame,
if you’re angry that tomorrow came?

Time is cruel and time is no friend;
half were in school; the rest trying to meet an end.
As a sun will set a newborn life will fade,
with moments you can’t forget
and one’s you would never trade.
It’s hard not to feel the same;
to be angry that tomorrow came.

He said take a note and give me five
“no one gets out of here alive.”
Who do you want to be for the rest of your life?
“Just a reminder, you don’t live twice.”
They tell me to grin my teeth and bear it
soft demeanor but eyes like a knife.
It’s clear they don’t want me to share it;
my collection of troubles and strife.
They’ve got closed eyes and plugged ears,
talking over each word I try to speak.
While it all feels like endless years,
in truth it’s only been one week.
And the reality of it is actually quite tame
but still you get angry that tomorrow came.

It’s a hazy afternoon with the sun in the sky
and I’m standing in the gloom of someone else’s goodbye.
And I could paint a thousand pictures
and never get the landscape quite right,
just like adjusting and fixing the fixtures
but never obtaining the perfect light.
It seems so insanely mundane,
but I’m trying to not be angry, that tomorrow came.

You can’t cleanse the bad from the good
there will always be residue permanently,
and it’s not so simple to gain some wood
you’re always going to have to cut down a tree, eventually.
Make sure the earth will burn, with an untamed flame
The world continues to turn, regretful that tomorrow came.

She sits on sandy banks,
the most beautiful sight one could see.
I give the universe endless thanks
for bringing and gifting her to me.
We’re a perfect paradise,
she’s always calmed me to breathe.
It paid off that she rolled the dice,
I know she’s not one for betting.

I can see stars looking out our window;
they illuminate us warm in our bed.
Through the screen I hear the wind blow,
it’s like a lullaby playing in my head.
“I love you more than you’ll ever know,”
You’re in my veins as the blood I’ve always bled.

Warming hands and pulling at shades,
rolling in white sands and waves, cascades.
Toppling over all the sand castles that were made,
brushing fingers on grassy patches; admiring every blade.

Watching the summer wind whip your hair to kiss your face
I start to begin to put them back into place,
before I declare that the act is just a waste
as natural perfection is one of your many traits.

There’s no lies and no regrets,
just those sweet summer sunsets
and those relaxed and easy breaths,
you are the best soul I’ve ever met.
And we were acting like there were whales in Wasaga beach,
who says there wasn’t baby, maybe they were just out of reach.

Chin up Chuck; the girl broke your heart
you say “I don’t give a ****” but she tore you apart.
You think you’ll figure it out, and that she just might stay
but after the words you shout, she knows she has to go away.
Something’s you can’t get loose
something’s just get stuck.
You’ll wonder if it was love or abuse
but chin up, Chuck.

Chin up Chuck, you’ve been left in the dark
lost all of your luck but hope for a spark.
You think you’ll find a route, get out of it all alive,
drag and pull boot by boot, praying you might survive.
Something’s you can’t just find
something’s just get stuck.
Are you in the dark or are you blind?
Still chin up, Chuck.

Chin up Chuck; the world gives you quarrel
you’ve drowned in the muck and let go of each moral.
You think you’ll be missed, maybe seen as a
martyr,
in truth you’d be ****** because you’re only seen as a **** starter.
Something’s won’t go right
something’s just get stuck,
but you don’t ever give up the fight
because you’re Chin up Chuck.

Listening to Jimmy Buffet
while relaxing on the roof,
she says “I swear I could jump right off it,
because I believe that I am bulletproof.”
This prompts a needed conversation
about theoreticals and physics,
based on her lack of self preservation
soon it will be her grave I visit.

You turn pebbles into rocks
and you make roads into sidewalks,
while both are wrong I could take them on
but you are like the chains to my locks.

I was stumbling through the darkened hall
leaning up for support against the the wall,
And found myself in a dusty bathroom stall,
advertising numbers of some bird I heard I should call.
Give a penny for your thoughts,
I’m saving up for nothing good.
I beg “give it to me straight, doc”
as any good doctor should.

You turn pebbles into rocks
and you make roads into sidewalks,
and in my mind, how easily I find
a thick outline that’s drawn in chalk.

What a bone I’ve got to pick
too bad it’s chipped and it’s been ground.
I hope this situation doesn’t stick;
but it’s past it’s welcome stuck around.
And I’m greeted like an answering machine,
except no has any answers left for me.
It’s all just driven me right up the walls,
I keep saying “you’re killin’ me, smalls.”

I’ve heard it takes a lifetime to live a minute
and it takes a minute to live a lifetime.
You don’t know what you’re in until you’re in it,
and you don’t see the sun until the sunshine.
So I’ll resign to waiting in line,
wasting my time, and losing my mind.

I know when I’ve been beat,
so don’t be surprised if I retreat.
I’d rather face the music then face the heat,
rather ******* tears as they’re sweet;
as sweet as sweet defeat.

It takes only a second to start a war,
and then naturally all hell breaks loose.
Do you know which side you’re fighting for?
Did you even get to choose?
So I’ll resign to the front line,
biding my time searching for a land mine.

I know when I’ve been beat
so don’t be shocked if I move my feet
to find cover from the fire on the street.
At long last the circle is complete
and it’s as sweet as sweet defeat.

“I’ll get you and your little dog too”
it’s all I’m hearing, and it’s ringing true,
along with “what’s a poor boy to do?”
“You have a choice: red or blue”
do you dare turn reality askew?
Or take your chances and wait for lieu?

I know when I’ve been beat,
so don’t be worried if I take a seat.
I can’t win the battle and I won’t cheat,
I’ll be lamb to slaughter; made to meat
and I’ll taste as sweet as sweet defeat.

The year I almost drowned
was the year I learned to swim.
I was weighed down pound by pound
and things were looking grim.
My arms flailing; began to tire
and my mouth was tasting salt,
just days ago I warmed myself by fire
and by lying on the asphalt.

Shadow stalks and kicking rocks;
irrelevant if your shoes are tied.
Checking locks and kicking rocks
get carried away by the tide.

The year I almost drowned
was the year I learned to swim.
I could view the sandy ground,
though the image was quite dim.
My head; just barely above the water
and desperately I was gasping for air,
and I could swear it was getting hotter
but the temperature was actually fair.

I’ve got currents and tides
within my mind.
And when I finally rip out my insides;
more water and waves you’ll find.

The year I almost drowned
was the year I learned to swim.
While being tossed and pushed around
I discovered I had every limb.
I could see a shoreline in the distance
it’s beaches with perfect white sand.
It seemed within an instance
I started treading steadily with each hand.

I can’t accept that my heart must turn to stone
just so that I don’t have to fade to dust and bone.
What good is life if you must go it alone?
Everyone should hear a voice versus a dial tone.

I don’t want to put a price on my head or on my soul,
and I don’t want to pay the price when I’ve already paid the toll.
Maybe I should take a lesson or two from a certain mole,
and find myself a nice warm and cozy hole.

Instead I resign and lay down on cold concrete
hoping it might absorb some of the sun’s heat,
like during days in the summer when it burns your feet,
they say you could hear an egg sizzle and it could cook your meat.

You may think I resemble a crumpled up bill,
discarded and thrown away at someone else’s will,
or maybe just another ant upon the hill
that’s awaiting to be squashed, just awaiting the ****.

Still I’m risking it all for just one more day,
even though the colours drain and then they fade to grey.
What you give you should not take away.
the rules keep on changing but not the way we play.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Em?”
I’m shaking my head and cheeks turn red.
Holding back tears but coughing up phlegm,
just consider me one of the walking dead.

And in all of that; myself I will find
and I’ll find myself becoming blind.
With clenched fists and teeth that grind,
living in the constraints of a mortal mind.

Empty pocket and empty plates;
safely locked it away still it dissipates,
a climber of corpses climbs high to something great,
and the rest of us are buried standing within this fate.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

The people’s scale is forever weighing
basic human rights against complete anarchy.
The right choice seems obvious to me, obviously,
but the indecision’s crazy with the lack of priorities.
A climber of corpses climbs high to heights we’ll never see,
I’d rather be a stone than those doing the stoning.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
I think that I’ve had it with their vinegar disguised as honey.
I won’t make another stitch in their golden wool,
it’s time to eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.

A bullet in the street shot from behind;
validated and woke up millions.
No retreat and not changing their minds;
vilified for targeting their billions.

If they really cared they’d ask if you could buy morality,
though typically they’d see if they could find it on sale.
The funniest part is that they could acquire it for free
but it’d be just like giving an atheist the Holy Grail.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
more bills; they stack it and the weather stays sunny.
Rock bottom in a ditch, dazed and in a lull
now it’s time eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.

Came to see if I was breathing,
I’m just needing a moment to calm down.
It’s just me still caged in this grieving
a sinking feeling causing me to drown.
Regardless of the gasping
it never stops; the question asking,
and my own answers are lacking
go ahead and tell ‘em, Long Lungs.

Hand over mouth in surprise and despair,
preventing fact from making a great escape.
A single breath couldn’t start to prepare
the never ending lines of caution tape.
Ignoring all of the many problems,
resigned to never solve them,
no one offers help so why involve them?
Go ahead and tell ‘em, Long Lungs.

I’ve been screaming silently most of my life.
Echoing pain and torment for endless miles.
Questioning visible scars while holding the knife,
that caused the death of seriousness and birthed countless smiles.

Came to see if I could tell or show
and speak the words I could never know,
while my grip weakens so I let it go,
and hope whatever falls can regrow.
Go ahead and tell ‘em Long Lungs.
Through all of the many seasons
they stopped changing and started bleedin’
I don’t judge’ cause I’m sure they have their reasons.
Go ahead and tell ‘em Long Lungs.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.

The Hallowe’en decor
has been put away for another year.
Christmas lights line each house and door,
illuminating every single tear.
The day of the dead has passed
but next holiday is one more for me,
since I’ve got the ghost of Christmas last
following me eternally.

Because you can’t weather proof against memories,
and you can’t keep grief from seeping through the windows.
The cold is the coldest of enemies
and it freezes you each time the wind blows.

The wind’s slapping at my face
and there’s a chill biting at my bones,
and in every snowflake; a feeling laced
“in our own arms we die”; all alone.
My mother was the spring,
just like it; she couldn’t stay very long.
The breath of fresh air she would bring
until her own breath wasn’t very strong.

Because you can’t weather proof against memories,
and you can’t keep grief from seeping through the windows.
The cold is the coldest of enemies
and it freezes you each time the wind blows.

No you can’t weather proof against memories,
and you can’t keep regret out of a locked door.
It has been that way for centuries
and it’ll be that way for centuries more.

She bruises easily,
she says “I don’t know why.”
“I’m like the monarchy,
they just won’t let me die.”
She pinches at her skin,
“do you see what I mean?”
It’s almost paper thin,
transparent and clean.

She comes up from the dirt,
born just ready to die.
Tugs and tears at her shirt,
fixes the cloth like a tie.
Changing each mask
within each new realm
and yet she still asks,
“Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?”

Wishing for the end
since around ‘96,
calling the reaper a friend,
“there’s no problem he can’t fix.”
“I had it all but at what cost?
I see no familiar face.”
“Every person I know is lost,
in life’s dreadful marathon race.”

She comes up from the dirt,
born just ready to die.
Grits teeth against the hurt
and keeps her eyes on the sky.
Still she juggles her tasks
and she steers at the helm,
and yet she still asks
“Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?”

I’m lying beside my girl in bed
I brush my lips against her ear;
“Baby if the world was to end,
there’s nowhere I’d rather be then here.”
Safe and warm as if in a nest
bodies formed like puzzle pieces,
she’s got her head pressed to my chest
heart pounding and it increases.

In my arms; my world and my plans
when you have my heart in your hands.
Always like this, always together
with your kiss of bliss, you’ll be my air forever.

I’ve never been one to greet sunrise
I much prefer the still quiet of night,
but as long as I can look into your eyes
you’ll forever remain my favorite light.
Our laughter combines
and creates a symphony,
a perfect meshing of minds
and souls completed perfectly.

In my arms; all that I ever sought
when you own my words and every thought.
Always like this, always together
with your kiss of bliss, it can’t get better.

In my arms; my world and my plans
when you have my heart in your hands.
Always like this, always together
with your kiss of bliss, you’ll be my air forever.

Spilled pill pieces
like crushed up Reese’s
I found my thesis;
in an empty stomach.
I formed some habits,
they reproduced like rabbits
and if I couldn’t stab it
I’d try to make it plumbic.
Decide to destroy at any cost,
I can’t hide or play coy; I’m my final boss.

I’m so messed up that I used to enjoy the battle;
while I lost, I lost to myself so I’d win.
Lamb to slaughter but too much guilt for the cattle,
maybe a sort of pacification that we can begin.
No cheat codes for this game we play.
All we sow is the seeds for another day.

Blurry scenes
and forgotten dreams,
no ends to a means,
but it started quite simple.
It began with quiet sighs
and tired bagged eyes
my grin would rise
but it seems I lost my dimples.
I was stumbling and swaying yet so lost,
fumbling while playing; I’m my final boss.

I was so messed up that I used to enjoy the game;
while I lost, I lost to myself all the same.
There’s no contra code and no extra lives,
no easy mode, no new game plus to replay twice.
No cheat codes for this game we play.
I keep wishing I could pause, wishing I could just stay.

There’s no save spot in sight,
no shrine and no campfire.
My hands gripping on so tight
my mind and my eyes tire.
I wished to be the hero of time,
always scared that I’d become a Ganon.
It took some work but my Zelda’s mine
I hope that ending stays canon.
But life is something that can’t be cheated,
destiny can’t ever be defeated.

I wake with a kink in my neck,
in my eye; a dirt speck.
Calling for all hands on deck; but we’re sinking.
I wish to return to the caves,
before we were on these rough waves
don’t know how we’ll dig these graves;
but I’m thinking.

But if I was taken by the wind
atleast then I’d understand.
But when the lady of the sea grinned
I came crawling hand over hand.
But if I was taken by the breeze
then I’d give up the horizon and trees
the sand and the land with great ease.

The ship of lost souls starts it’s sail at dawn
watch how it moves along,
in the currents so strong; isn’t she sturdy?
It’s stern turns so incredibly tight
even on the roughest night
but when held to the light; her deck’s *****.

But if I was taken by the wind
atleast then I’d go willingly.
Along with those who have sinned
or just those who chose to be free.
But if I was taken by the breeze
then I’d give up the flowers and bees,
leave it all behind, pay no mind
and even say please.

We practice serenity
with each day that we receive.
No search for amenity
just live off of what we believe.
No shortness of want or need,
look how easily we breathe.

That’s where the old snake stopped me
from attempting to grab the fruit.
There was endless crop to see
there was infinite loot.
We’re living in paradise lost.
We’re living in paradise lost,
and I don’t ever want to be found.

No much more to gain,
we shower within the rain.
Maybe I could stop this train
maybe you could stop the pain.
We have no short of grain
we have no hate or bane.
Rocky Mountains or flat plain,
delusional but still sane.

That’s where the old snake stopped me,
and told me that I need not pick.
The fruit was freely dropping,
raining down so strong and quick.
We’re living in paradise lost,
with nothing bringing us down.
We’re living in paradise lost,
and I don’t ever want to be found.

My heart was always searching
even aware you were it’s home,
and each thought and feeling urging
to make sure you’d never be alone.

It’s the warmth within your eyes
and the comfort your voice can bring.
The way your smile lights up the skies
you’re my world, my heart, my everything.
When our bodies and fingers interlace
I’ve never felt so real and so complete,
it’s like art studying your beautiful face;
it’s the only sight I wish to greet.
Within dreams and when I’m awake,
you’re my ocean and my lake.

My eyes were always longing
to have you back and within my sight.
There’d be someone I’d be wronging
but wrong never was so right.

It’s the warmth within your eyes
and the comfort your voice can bring.
It’s the slow exhales and the quiet sighs,
when we’re comfortably silent or talking.
When our bodies and fingers interlace
I’ve never felt so real and so complete,
you’re forever my person and my place
I love you from your head down to your feet.
You’re the fix to every single break,
you’re my ocean and my lake.

Each inhale is euphoric bliss, we breathe for one another,
and if I could have one wish; it’d be that you had met my mother.
A home is what you have made
both on grass and where my heart is,
but I confess that I would trade
my only wish for your promise.
A promise I’d jump to make,
you’re my sea and my lake.

I’m alone stuck in my head
we both lost track of what was said.
Here I write but you haven’t read,
please just come to bed.

Lost in translation starts a fight,
another disappointing night.
Not sure of much but sure we’re right,
come to bed and turn off the light.

Mind’s running laps but in a line,
avoiding barbed wire and land mine.
Determined to stay up to greet sunshine,
come to bed and it will be fine.

I’m alone stuck in my head
an impending sense of doom and dread.
I write in blue but you mark in red,
please just come to bed.