I play my part as she sings me to sleep

Taylor calls for me from those stairs in Italy

I’m walking by a pay phone on the beach

Reminders from the East and a girl named Cicily

Talk me into circles out of reach

Send letters won’t you son to remind us what you’ve done

Don’t be a stranger call us once a week?

I buried what was left of my heartache in a trench

On that lonesome stretch of sand I was released

Now Bret he reads the lines in the background of my mind

There’s no one in this room to hear me sing

When journaling in thought feels like a raven’s claw

It’s Taylor who sits calmly next to me

The grass rests underneath her cheekbone by the sea

While chemicals channel flowing dreams

It’s 8am in August while I pour the gin and tonic

Listening to the ocean’s cresting wave

The cobblestone in Rome for which once walked me home

Now Cicily I hear her gently speak

There’s no such thing as time, if you believe that then that’s fine

But darling I’ve got no tears left to weep

I did my best to please the priest listening to me

Still Lucas rest assured me of my grief

I didn’t have to sail to France to find a girl to dance

I just went out every night for one last drink

So now as Taylor calls to me from those stairs in Italy

I pick her up once more from memory

I play my part as she sings me to sleep

I pick her up once more from memory

I play my part as she sings me to sleep

untitled

I often wish

we’d create more.

Other times

I just aim

to quit all that

bullying.

Mostly

we fade to black.

— INSERT EXCUSE HERE —

So quite literally if you say

what is going to be my excuse today?

— INSERT EXCUSE HERE —

Now don’t do that.

Do everything but that.

Do every other thing

you’d rather be doing.

What do you got to lose?

The job you hate.

The credit you pay.

The fear you make.

It’ll all be there tomorrow.

So excuse yourself today

and see what happens.

a bad artist

At the end of the day

when my feet are sore

when my mind is heavy

and I can’t take anymore.

Playing with matches I paint.

I paint such beautiful pictures

in my heart that burns

which no one can see

because I’m no painter

I’m just a bad artist

fingering napalm.

love and pain

One day you will wake up

to find yourself very successful

or very much alone.

If you are lucky enough

you might even wake to both.

Whom ever is next to you on that day

try your best not to create

a fiction to deny your current state,

and choose wisely your diction

each time you fall back to sleep.

Do not make this common mistake,

going to sleep as means to dream.

Rather wake up knowing love and pain

can not survive without the other.