The harder it becomes to let go
Shake and shiver
Every time you think of her
It is a cure

You know she's carved a part of you
In her heart too
But she'll kiss it away
On a lonesome rainy dawn

Tree tops, tree tops,
Air swinging back.
Driving, driving,
Until water pops.

Fallen and dying trees,
who lived to help.
Wood that stands
With sticks as hands.

Hands that stay still,
As you go downhill.
The world follows
This oblivious drill.

Yet you drive and drive
Until water you find.

You’re an evergreen.
You don’t take to survive;
You’re a shelter for life.
If you drive and drive,
I know water you’ll find.

in a room sits a man with a sunflower
there is nothing else in the room, he has
plenty of space to move around
but some days, it feels much smaller

he sits on the floor with his sunflower
and just watches it, his life is best
       when he just watches it
there is one window, always shining light
for the sunflower to follow,
       as sunflowers do

every so often, the man hides the sunflower
maybe he is bored, more likely scared
he puts it in the corner,
in the closet
       anything to keep it away from the sun
he will remove layers of his skin
so that he has something to cover the window
       anything to keep the light out of the room

his head buried in the ground
his eyes too red to read
       what would he read, anyway?
curled in a ball, he sleeps in the corner
       hiding

it takes time
but the sunflower       again
finds its way back to the center of the room
it begins to grow        again
it continues to follow the light
       as sunflowers do

sometimes he wakes up and notices,
and a smile breaks the crust on his lips
he sits with it, brushes the pedals       and cries
sometimes things are good
       sometimes he is okay with it
but we on the outside of the room
      we wait
until the light under the door disappears
until he       again       suffocates the sunflower with darkness
each time, the flower growing closer to death
       i don't know how to make him stop,
       but i wish the flower would just die

I am left yearning to drown,
When smothered in your love.
Breath, breath is optional,
I live off of your love.

Addiction, obsession, craving,
Need, you are need,
So I repeat the same words back to you,
Drown me.

In the midst of the silence grief has an echo,
A thrumming heartbeat of a pain that wont let go.
Every heart beat is as loud as a drum
no real noise just a resounding thrum.
Then things begin to swirl moving so fast, you are caught in a current the silence doesn’t last.
Everything around you is just so loud,
to much, chaos in the midst of the crowd.
All you want is to slip into quiet sleep
But when you finally can, the grief is too deep.
You welcome the silence, the lack of the crowd. But can not stay there because your head is too loud.
A new you emerges to make room for the pain.
Holding on to the memories, love remains.

The day’s hours were worn down and a sudden sunset, that resembled a master’s painted glimpse of Valhalla was upon us, its majesty of deepest blue, blood red and black.

From our tenth-floor skew, the river looked, for all, like a wrinkled sea expecting a storm. Boats moved to tie up before the dark body of windswept clouds arrived trailing a wall of downpour and flickering, electric thunder.

Our study group had run over, as they tend to do. Most of the members urgently moved to pack up (they’d be campus bound). An unpropitious rumble and fierce flare of light revealed that mild twilight had swiftly faded to a darkest stormy night.

My pinched-pleated curtains thrashed before this tempest for the almanacs, feigning a life they do not possess, like twin ghosts stirred to wrath.

“We can order in,” I offered, waving a menu from the downstairs bistro, as I closed my French, glass doors. “Why not eat here and wait it out?” I shrugged, “My treat,” I offered, “and I have wine.”

A pleasant embracement of relief and consent followed. What held more power, I wondered, the society, natures coerce or the gratis fare?

Later. as we parted, a young man paltered, repaying me with a quick hug and cheeky kiss. The valueless touch, was itself rewarded with a small grimace of a smile, but the sin did not overset the mood.
.
.
Songs for this:
Riders on the storm by the doors
Stormy by Classics IV