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.