At his touch her beating heart turns to ice
Then he burned her like his last cigarette

smoke fills my lungs
as i walk through the halls
making it difficult for me to breathe
i navigate the house from memory
my eyes being blinded
by the bright light of the fire
mixed with ashes floating near by
i make it past the kitchen and living room
into the long hall
where i am finally able to take a deep breathe
i peer into my room
smoke lingers but fire has yet to destroy
the things i own
as i move to my brothers room
there is astonishingly little smoke
his room is untouched
but as i make my way toward my parents room
the smoke thickens
and i disappear into a haze of ash, smoke, and heat
i find my mom at the far end of the room
looking out the window
we stand there together and watch
as children play in the street
as neighbors walk past
seemingly unaware of the flames engulfing the house

Remember when I called you cold?
Even if I was right,
What was so wrong with that?

And after being burned
By the sun,
I'll jump into your icy vat.

If you want me to,
I can be your warmth,
And you can be my hat.

Whenever I feel sad, I blow things up in video game land.
Because everything and anything that I built there, can be rebuilt.
I can fix everything in the screen that I hurt or broke.
But I can't fix how you probably think what we had was just a joke.

Let's just face it
we're all living a lie
thinking we're something
but eventually we'll die

we'll be forgotten
buried in the ground
or burned down to ash
and scattered all around

Your vibrant sea eyes burned through me
Caressing every inch of my soul
Embracing my past and the hardship that follows

You accepted me for who I was
Which was more than I could ask for
Picking up my shattered pieces in attempt to make me **whole again

Pointless nostalgic,
my only talent is echoing
onto amniotic microcosms,
where singing is the abortion,
of any cerebral commotion.
No courage in my veins
to float on the vibes
of a carcass that remains of me.
licked clean with the searing cure
of a lion, by then confused
with the dense effect
of another space, burned to the ground.
These new sunsets cry raw drops of clay,
still hanging by the thread of these horizons,
while balance bet everything,
on the frustrated sound
of unspoken words.