We'll go grab some coffee
from the place down the street,
where the old wooden floors
creak just beneath our feet.
Then we'll take our drinks out
for a walk through the park
where the moon shines enough light
to see each other in the dark.
We'll start mixin' things up
with the flask inside my coat.
The breezy wind ain't bad
once the heat hits our throats.
We'll share drinks at a bench,
joke about people passing by
and we'll hide behind trees
passing a bowl, getting high.
We'd explore a bit more
then watch an indie dramedy.
We'd forget about Trainspotting
and focus just on you and me.
We'll lie side by side,
as we will the rest of the night,
thinking of things to add
to the list of things we like
like all the chemicals
that make our bodies hum
and the facts that we are free
and that our nights are always fun.

It's just dawned on me:
all these houses are too close together
and all these rooms are full.
I have nowhere that I can scream to myself
without somebody close by knowing
that I'm not okay.

The Mississippi gleams
like the rock on your hand.
Let its water fill your cup,
its steam fill your lungs
and let yourself go with the rapids. 
For every blow
you take to the face,
every little shot
that finds its mark
and every hit
that leaves you gasping for air
comes a new way to roll
with the real punches thrown.

The river keeps flowing
and your left with few choices.
Grab a branch, find some stability
and start a life outside the stream.
Stop fighting, let yourself sink
and burn out beneath the waves.
Or you can ride it out, every twist and turn,
and see what N'orleans brings.

It first served as a conduit.
Somewhere pure to place
passions, pressures and people.
Now this place has become a board
where we must match
eachothers movement
with our own critical thinking.
Each tile filled with recycled lies
hidden within fresh new lines,
where every throw of the dice
could win you the round
or move you back in the ranks,
desperate and drained,
deservedly so.
The totems we've chosen for ourselves
move hastily through the rules,
guidelines and restrictions,
hoping that the next 'chance' card
we draw
might instead read 'fate,'
and that the game will finally cease.

"Go steady with me
I know it turns you off when I
I get talking like a teen
I get talking like a teen"

Yes, it does.
You read so well.
But it turns me on
when you speak
with such elegant grammar,
each word turned over
in your mind,
waiting to find it's perfect placement;
a lot like Stephen King,
another soul capable of capturing
my a.d.d.led attention.
Oh, what I'd do,
to be placed among
the proper nouns you leave out
and the procreated proverbs
you seem to sell your secrets to.
Instead, it seems,
you've caste me to the cemetery,
with the other animals,
only later to be risen from the dead.

This is your candle to burn,
The wax you long to flux?
You will this wick to blaze?
Then light our match with your crux

I'm a wise owl in sheep in wolf's clothing
Interpreting every cautious move made running with the pack
And you're exactly what you appear to be
You're ghostly traits just as transparent from the back
I am the pretentious walking dead man
Far too good for my own rotting flesh
I guess thats just the way she goes
down
Like any devil in a blood red dress
Last call only tends to last a little while
Until another bitter day calls for a God forsaken night
I am the self-forgetten first born
Passing lessons down after making no first decisions right
I've been on top of the town
Still wet from arctic lengths of time trapped under ice
I keep a hold of others' darkest secrets
ruling this game of thrones and still playing it nice
I'm a king in beggars clothing
I have everything I need and no reason to boast
I don't find joy in you're possessions
salvation found in being no one is a reason to coast
You've lost the fire that kept your spirits up
and have become another mindless ******* bore
when we're old and reacquainted
I'd like to see you convince me that I haven't lived more

"When they unearth these passages
will I appear to be proud?
Not if you're listening close enough.
Not if you're sounding it out."

The infinite serpent
that devours his own tail,
as he reaches the end,
is back where he began;
restarting the journey
inside out

I don't know what's more shallow,
me or the graves that I've dug.
I can't tell what's more empty,
my heart or the ones that I've loved.
I don't feel what's on fire,
Is it my eyes or the bridges I've crossed?
I wonder what's more winding?
My thoughts or the path that I walk.
I can't decide what's more frightening,
the ghosts that I carry or the people I haunt.
I cant see what cuts deeper,
the dagger you've drawn or the things that we want.

The infinite serpent
that devours his own tail,
as he reaches the end,
is back where he began;
restarting the journey 
outside in