How strange it is of life
to love with no love in turn
How strange it is of life
that a cold shoulder can burn
How strange it is of life
that you bring a tear to my eye
How strange it is of life
that you let me pass you by

You and I were the tree and the vine,
I was yours and you were mine.
I often felt that I was the tree,
for all the roots that came under me.
You were the vine, beautiful and light;
I loved you best for never clinging too tight.
You said that all along it was I who clung,
and then and there something died where I hung.
This tree of mine had changed its leaves,
and grown contempt within its eaves.
And I, the vine and parasite
was bid a prompt and cold goodnight.
By the time I fell to the forest floor,
life as I knew it was no more.

And yet again, I care too much.
It burdens my shoulders
and suffocates me everyday.
Thoughts of everyone, everything,
efforts to remember,
it has consumed me
as would a storm.
To think that they-even you,
never wanted me,
it was always her.
Compare us
and I will always come up short.
And? I shouldn't even care.
It is dangerously shallow water to swim in;
but I cannot yet let it go:
I wish terribly to be
just one person's first choice.

Tonight, love holds me.
Tonight love pours out of me
as wine into a glass
before an anxious eye.
I have enough love for all
I can rain it down from the sky.
Tonight, if you find yourself
without love you can share mine.
If you find yourself adrift at sea
I will cast you out a line.
Tonight, love holds me.

You are quite a gifted surgeon.
In fact you cut me so clean and sharp
I barely even knew it at the time.
Waking the next day in my hospital bed
was where I met my pain.
Being with you was like anesthesia:
I was so grateful for you to help me.
You were the one who weakened me.
My senses failed: your scalpel cut
clean to the core, and then I just let you
sew me back together. The nurses say
I am very lucky, that I had a good doctor.
I know better. I was once a person and
now I am Sally Stitches, or better yet, Raggedy Ann.
I am no one's operation game.
Letting you in brings only stitches and needles,
and it was I who checked myself in.
I need to learn to stitch myself at home.
Consider this my checking out.

I am the last soul in the universe,
sailing a ship that will find no shore.
The souls that came after me are no longer,
as are the ones that came before.
The sea around me is a dark abyss,
and the island I seek, a star.
Here I am the loneliest soul in the cosmos,
dreaming I am watched from afar.
I built this ship of shadows,
and hoisted sails from fallen dreams.
I am the last captain of the stars,
praying darkness is more than it seems.

You cut right through me.
I am the dying man in films,
gasping and choking on my own life,
shocked at what was always coming.
How is it that death feels so very alive?
I stumbled in a world of darkness
when you found me and cut me down
and all was clear from there.
You, who I thought least of all
taught me the best lesson:
weakened, and losing blood
my heart pumped stronger than ever,
raging and fighting for life
as it never had and I knew then:
I was happy to still be alive.