When your grass is no longer green,
drink more water—
96 hours worth.
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An open question for the one’s still reading.
What is it that makes you Tik? And I’ll tell you what makes me Tok.
(But for real! What makes you get up in the morning, drives you through the day, and helps guide you to sleep?)
I’m curious to know more about you.
I’m all ears…
When Butterflies Were Band-aids
Look me in my heartache
And tell me there’s a cure
When butterflies were band-aids
Where fact and fiction blur
Speak to me in virtues
The one’s I’m pickled for
When only field’s were diamonds
And playgrounds left you sore
Hold me in your sorrow
With hands so soft and pure
When bedtime meant tomorrow
Was absolutely sure
Hear me as the willows
Send shivers down your spine
When fluff was just for pillows
Where wonder’s in the pine
Sense me in my mourning
For those yet to be fed
When fear meant it was pouring
Where Rover was still red
Send prayers if you still got em
Though mine have long since fled
This well’s filled from the bottom
Where sailboats are led
The game is rigged the money’s spent
If I stay in bed too long
dreaming of the times gone by
There must be something wrong
like not knowing what is right
If I get up and get gone
still daydreaming in the morning light
There must be something wrong
because all I see is black and white
Out there on the road
passing frowns can’t weigh me down
Like songs from days of old
freewheeling there’s no time to tell
She’s been reaching for the sun
did all I could to take her there
Must be doing something wrong
like two children we’re still unprepared
To walk
on our own
As state signs blur
on the road
Yet all this time
we have grown
There’s still this
phantom partner feeling
though we’re on our own.
When you go there’s still coming back
don’t be extreme like who needs that?
There must be something wrong
for me to feel like this and that
She was going either way
it didn’t matter if I saved the day
There must be something wrong
for me to think or feel this pain
Standing in the setting sun
which blinds me now casts shadows on
Reflections on the windowpane
my doppelgänger’s staring back at me
If looks could kill I’d live
my malice spite all gibberish
God knows if I could commit
I’d probably muck it up like a little kid
Whose ball
hits the rim
It bounces far
time and again
The game is rigged
the money’s spent
Yet there’s this
faint glimmer of hope
like there’s a chance to win.
My focus is a pinball
There is no
If
And
Or
But
About it
My focus is a pinball
With
No
Credits
Left
To play.
