Alone- deafening silencing erupting
around me.
Nowhere to escape
Nowhere to be.

Just me, myself and I
While half unconscious you lie
Burying your mind in the realm
of peaceful sleep.

Wide awake I will stay
For at least a few more hours I'd say
I can't be mad at you for the silence
I only have myself to blame.

Cause of my own demise,
Oh, what a shame

You're asleep
and I am so very awake
with far too much to explain.

*or maybe I'm just lonely

through years and tears
  tiny arrows spinning round and
    round insignificant numbers on
       a flat face, staring back at me.  
         a field of wild grasses and flowers
           only followed by another single
              field, no rolling hillsides
             but only industrialism,  
         mindless materialism
      that numbs you so softly
   and slowly
you barely
notice
it

already

has
happened.

People who fight
their battles alone
either lose the battle
or lose themselves.

if there's only one thing I could do all my life;
it would be to know you - *all of you.

My heart is so broken
I'm so totally worthless
So my heart is for sale
Half-price only

I think it still works
I know the pain
And fear section does

The bit for joy
Is long out of use

And the piece for love
Is quite broken

But it mostly still works
So,
I've got half-price heart for sale

The sloppy rain slips and slides down the fogged-up windows,
and this lets me know that I am not as small as I think I am.
In a city of three million plus, I feel like the soul of a nation,
even though I'm just a twenty-one year-old piece of plastic, drinking a hipster beer.

The waitress has frizzy hair and oily skin.
She's holding in late-night infomercials and missed ballet recitals, behind her words.
She looks at my luggage and asks where I came from or where I'm going,
and I tell her that the fun thing is that I have no idea where I'm going --
and that I still haven't decided where I've came from.

This city allows new-found anonymity, and I want that to be my cause.
With each passing glance, I know they don't see me, and, to me, that's the slumber-kissed throat-slit I've always dreamt of...

...the streets play music that I only hear -- and I know that's not fair, but I don't care.

And the homeless represent the bowels of the city.
And the businessmen are the ghost-filled engine.
And the middle class is the defense-mechanism I always wanted for Christmas.
And I am the empty delusion, desperately seeking a new pollution.