The feeling of riding shotgun in your car isn't a memorable feeling.
Less than
Stopping at all the shops we used to visit again, once hand in hand now three feet apart.
Watching the moon set over the mountains at seven in the morning, with a broken bone, a broken heart, and a cigarette lit between my numb fingers.
If past lovers are lessons, I learned yours the hardest.
Your brown eyed girl now has a fire in her eyes.
I will use it to keep him warm.

We cannot measure the nights we have,
Until they're all up,
Each beat of heart could be your last,
And fade you into dust.

So why do we fret over the smallest bauble,
And fight about it all,
Why close our ears when pain is audible,
Not answering the call.

From ashes to ashes we all circulate,
And search for meaning,
This sense of dread we can all relate,
We all have this needing.

So fight nought with your brother,
We are the same flesh,
Embrace the sameness of each other,
Embrace this human mesh.

No welcome mat adorns the threshold of this house, whose stolen curtains leave gaping holes in the privacy of a building, stripped of laughter. The night peeks in through open doors, and rotted walls, where once soft incandescent light illuminated: a family portrait, childhood masterpieces, and a bookshelf once filled with books worn by the love of three souls who enjoyed nothing more than the peace and quiet of Saturday afternoons devoted to the exploration of their favourite author.

Along the North wall, where once the girl's bedroom sat proudly, gleaming with the banners of musicians and musicals, now rests rubble and ruin. Bereft of purpose, the house is weighed down, with the shame of being unable to shelter its family, with remorse from not withstanding, with guilt from the failure to hold together a family that deserved more than the inextricable truth that a life lived fully and completely in youth and virtue must come to a stop fully and completely.

No welcome mat adorns the threshold of this house, whose drawn curtains provide an honest glimpse into the life of a family, stripped of laughter. The day peeks in through an open door, across painted walls, where the soft morning light illuminates: a tough reminder, childhood innocence, and a bookshelf built with the  love and attention of now two souls who try valiantly to remember the peace and quiet of Saturday afternoons devoted to the exploration of their favourite author.

These stars in my heart
This magical space debris
Has always been a part of me
From the beginning
These scars on my skin
Merely constellations
That hold a deeper meaning
If you examine them closely

And I know who you are
We share the same scars

This light in my eyes
Shines like a jewell
Like stars in the night
Until I see connections
These scars on my skin
Become a story told
These meanings
Only stars can hold

And I know who you are

I fell in love with a fake moon
The sun was always in view
But I was swept up in tides
That were man-made

Not of the gods
Not of the inner voice I hear
That I know belongs to spirits

I fell in love with a projection
Of my favorite constellation
I believed in it so much
I forgot about the night sky

Where the answers are written in stars
And if you know how to listen
You can hear them

I fell in love with a lightbulb
I became a flower in a green house
And what I was reaching for
Wasn't the sun

I fell in love with a fake moon

I don't want to be alright
I want to crumble like centuries
I want my limbs to whither like December
I want my treaty broken by a band of outlaws
Who can justify all the wrong that's been done with their own twisted logic

I don't want to be alright
I want to break like a wave in the night
I want my fingers to lose all feeling and all strength
I want my peace to be lost in an unjust war
Fought by soldiers who never really knew what they were dying for

I don't want to be alright
Because if I am
It will be your proof
I never really loved you
And I know I did
I don't want to be wrong

I'd rather suffer

Broken girl, why are you crying?
Did you not find God today
in the world? In the words
of another, your mother?
Is it someone else's fault you are broken?
Some words spoken
Old wounds opened
That blood will stain stain stain
Pressure can heal that wound
Apply
Apply yourself

C ould you,
L oosen your grip on my reigns?
O bviously, you
C an't see how you're,
K illing me softly
W here am I now, where do I sleep?
O ver and over it replays on my mind,
R everbirating sound of whips tearing my skin
K indly put me down, and just put me out of my misery.