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Brick by Brick

I remember when you were so dark on the inside.
Let out only in tiny fragments at a time,
but I was still always surprised at how deep,
how sad.
How very very sad.

Are you still that way?
Is everything still so meaningful,
and most everything turns to shit?
Or did the sun find itís way inside you?
Brighten the black that lived there.

I miss you, and I have only myself to blame.
If the sun found you, itís only because I chased it away from me.
I seem to chase away everything thatís meaningful.
Wishing it was meaningless,
only to find it was so so meaningful.

You seem so happy and bright in the sunshine.
Iím glad you found it.
but regret itís not with me.

It's Over
I risked my life for you
Weren't those your words once?
Didn't those words pour out of your mouth like too much honey?--
Sweet but sickening.
I gave you every last inch of myself
Everything inside of me was plucked out for you.
Laid out in the open, dissected, and put back differently.
I gave you everything
And now I've got nothing left to give.
So I've taken your words

We were chasing a dream.
Now I've woken up.
I've lost the scent of your skin
And your eyes are growing dim.
Can the number of years make up for the fact that they were fake?
I keep expecting to feel the clutches of fear and regret grab at my chest.
But they don't come.
And I realize that the number of years
Are years that I've lost.

Hello Stranger
My heart won't stop pounding
There's something thrilling in your eyes
I couldn't help but look a little longer
Wondering what it would be like
--For just one second--
To feel your touch.
Would it be soft?
Would our lips spark electricity?
But I cannot tell you how I feel.
Nor may I indulge.
But for just one second--
Can I pretend to be yours?

Last Time
in the silence.
Tired of inhaling lies.
Wearing thin, I draw back from you,

tears remember
your broken promises.
Tomorrow my smiles forget.

Imagine Wild
I used to wish that I could
Run free and wild
on a bare back black stallion.
Fingers entwined in a tangled,
ebony mane, blowing into a wind whipped face
of watery eyes and red cheeks.
Floating, floating across the ocean side
like a small piece of paper in a sturdy breeze.
Waves foaming at sharp hooves that beat
a colorful rhythm.
Leaving behind scattered hoof prints.

I used to wish that I could
fly, fly free and flirtatious
Into the frigid valleys of Antarctica,
the tropical jungles of Belize.
I would roam the wild plains of Australia,
Fly up higher than Mt. Everest
where I could see the stars up close.
I would dance with the waters,
float on the breeze,
and fly far,
far away from here.

Our Relationship
Tempo changes, key changes.
Hard parts, easy parts.
Iíve gotten to know your notes,
Your life.
But thereís one note that always messes me up.
I remember to put a star by it,
Going back to smooth things over
So we can flow again.
With fumbling fingers, I drone through drill after drill.
Perfecting the first page,
Not realizing the second is even harder,
With 32nd notes
And accidentals that keep slipping me up.

I think itís time to put this piece
Back in the folder.

It's not so windy in this city, he says.
He says that time drips slowly, like melting icicles.
The people cling to their small world
Their small minds wrapping around large things.

He says the girls are so tiny,
They blow away with the slightest breeze of infatuation.
And the city streets and sky scrapers weep;
Lonely just like him.

Hungry for thought
Words lost come pouring out.
On paper, not on air,
You know it doesn't flow that way.

Inspiration, it lingers
Can't sleep until itchy fingers
Are relieved.
You know I've always been here.
(Silently, sleeping, now I'm awake)

A man sits by the bed of a woman he has beaten,
Dresses her wounds,
Gingerly dabs at bruises.
Her blood pools about her,

Earth, can we not love you unless we believe the end is near?
Believe in your life unless we think you are dying?

Astonished, he finds he's begun to cherish her.
He is terrified.
Why had he never seen, before, what she was?
What if she stops breathing?
space~The words to a piece of artwork in the New York City Library.
Sometimes, at night... I think about gnomes when I'm naked.
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