if I'd been held
like this back then
I wonder who
I'd be today

probably not the one who waited
pushed all other men away

because I was not 'good enough'
because I was afraid to love

it took so long to find someone
because I built so many walls

and through it all
I always hoped
one day I could be understood

deep down
through all my darkest days
I always wanted to be good

if I had never run away
this dream would end

if someone like you
had been there to hold me then
I'm sure we never would have met

do not love me for my face
love me for my ways
my grace

do not love me for my looks
love me for my art
my books

do not love me because I'm young
love me for what I've said and done

love me for something deep
love me
love me for something I can keep

I know that you are not
"the one"
I know this is not real

It isn't really about you
It's just the way I feel

I tell myself this time is different
this time you are right

But I am chasing the same shadow
through a different night

I never get used to the pain
the pain
the same **** pain

I know you will break the cycle
I know you will break the chain

And tomorrow I will run from you
But it will be the same

The same sorrow
The same pain

Same shadow
Another name

flowers flying on the breeze

sunlight dancing through the trees

ripples moving through a stream

strange that this is all a dream


symmetry and synchrony

entropy and empathy

can't believe how real this seems

strange that this is all a dream

I do not know who or what else
but our god is a god of death
who built us all to stumble
built the Universe itself to crumble

from our viewpoint
we who perceive time
as a moving arrow

ours is a god of falling dice
of falling sand
of falling sparrows

the children of entropy
the stones and trees
the Moon
the sea
the air in every breath
and even we ourselves are born of death

we fear for everything we are
in fear we walk
as fallen stars

tremble before the night beyond
tremble before the face of god

sometimes I am afraid
to put my thoughts down onto paper
how do I make something normal?
how do I make something good?

afraid what I create
will turn out just as flawed as I am
just as morally ambiguous
as dimly understood

the need to be oblique
about how I'm unique
a freak

tangles the thread of thought so thoroughly
I am afraid to speak

I find
repressing my own mind
and second-guessing every confession

self censorship that slices
like a scythe
into my writing's spine