Keep trying but, I don’t scare that easy.

The lights are on,

but the drive’s not there.

I wonder if this happens to everyone?

I’m sure it does, except

I’m not everyone.

And you, you’re part of them but lately

only half as strong.

Does that sound correct?

Or am I just scratching an itch

not meant to be scratched?

Am I bucketing a well

when all that’s left is rain?

I hear you when you say you’re tired.

I’m tired too.

And when you say you’re trying, love

I’m trying too.

I feel you when you’re breaking,

partly because I’m breaking too.

I feel it when your heart is aching,

since mine’s been split in two.

What’s left than but a couple lines?

Enough to prove our sorrow?

For all the many times I’ve died

I’ve always seen tomorrow.

It’s hardest when you say

the words that help you sleep,

so sleep as many days

as it took for me to wake.

Besides, I feel much better since

I know this fight’s a gas,

it’s a wonky handle left we clutch

of a longing meant to last.

The Perks of You

As daylight wanes, and night begins

there’s rapture in the air.

With static thought, and moonlit eyes

I see it all too clear.

What’s written in the stars, is written in the sand.

What’s written on the heart, is written now by hand.

My love for you is twilight.

My love for you is snow.

My love for you is many things, my love for you is old.

I’ve kept it in the shadows, of poetry and light.

I’ve kept it in the darkness, to brighten up my night.

Just know my heart is dancing, like fire unto stone.

Just know my heart is breaking, each night I am alone.

As daylight comes, I feel you near—

the darkness goes away.

The perks of you are endless still, your love’s a weathervane.

Four Walls And Myself.

Head in palm I sit defeated.

It’s not out of necessity

but choice, I think how come?

In a world of opportunity, what’s left of me but this?

Tangled in my heartache, what’s left for me but this?

Fist to chin I sit and wait,

for thought to turn to word, to pen.

Has writing any of this down, ever made me any sense?

Has stewing in this endless grief, ever made me any cents?

It’s times like this I dare not move.

I dare not speak but listen,

to the winds which wrap my innocence

in a shroud of Turin—distant.

What’s left of me but gall?

The daylight helps me see,

somewhere within this shell of me

is darkness and that’s all.

I wish I had the answer, the one you claim to see.

I wish I had your courage, your courage to believe.

This wooden desk is cold.

My heart is growing old.

I’d rhyme a couple lines or two, if younger were my skin.

Settling I feel, my insides wearing thin.

What’s left of me but this?

What’s left for me is everything I fear to touch with reason.

What’s left of me’s so tangled in the ever changing seasons.

With arms crossed round my chest, I sit in awful doubt.

It’s here I know the meaning, of four walls and myself.

It’s here I risk repeating, a fate which is not mine.

It’s here I hope I’m worthy still, of love which I’ve denied.

this god damn ghost of me

if i could live with someone’s hope

forever till we part

i’d at least be able to see

beyond the ashes on my fingertips

and the cough tucked under-sleeve,

perhaps then maybe i could sleep?

longer than it takes to wake and find

who i’m not, or who i’d rather be—

cause it’s such a drag to smile

then to give a laughing nod,

that even when i do it’s like

my mind just says enough—

so when sitting becomes quiet

with my shadow and the curb

i hear within the darkest corner

that hope i don’t deserve.

and if i know you well enough

i know you’ll disagree,

still hopelessly devoted to

this god damn ghost of me.

and it’s hardly ever good enough

in retrospect you’ll see

that hope distilled in all of us

is that in which i bleed—

As If We Existed

It wasn’t ever fun

Even when it lasted

There was always hidden

A motive and agenda

Something I couldn’t figure from afar—

I needed microscopic certainty

That I’d have to disappear

In order to remember—

For them to forget—

That either of us had ever existed

What Could Possibly Matter More Than Meaning What You Don’t Have The Answers For?

What’s the point in asking the question

If your voice is already defeated

I’d go blind just trying to see it

You know everyone is trying to beat it—

If there’s pain then that means there’s a reason

If there’s truth then it’s hard to believe in

Still it’s hard not to relive this feeling

Where everyone everyone’s stealing—

It’s like selling your grief for a grievance

Why the hell would you even break even

Doing all we could to deceive them

It’s all wasted time wasting time healing—

It’s like playing pretend dressed in your skin

Or saying the pledge of allegiance

When there’s no one to please or believe in

It only matters as much as you mean it

drunks and dreamers

I like to sit, in long

Wakes of silence

And write cowboy songs

For drunks and dreamers

Who know better

And are better—

Who are better off alone.

Rudimentary Silence

Only in the slightest

Contradictions find us

Taking a piss in the back of a waiting

Rudimentary silence

Little acts of violence

Testing the waters like leaving the bathtub

Full of standing water

Babies left to wander

Dipping our beaks in a pool not so shallow

Now—

Actions without reason

God I’ve got this feeling

Down like the old folks whose tennis balls are wearing out

Obligations find us

Contradictions bind us

Tight like a truckers hitch secured to nothin but

Ourselves if we’re willing

To hold someone who’s willing

To kick the creator for all the stupid shit we’ve been through

Now—

Everybody wants their own way

Standing on clouds there’s no reason to shout out loud

When everybody gets their own way

I can guarantee somebody won’t be pleased (laugh out loud)

The Price You Pay For Being Born

A couple days of patience

and a miners rest, she’s

Sleeping like a baby

in her Sunday’s best, I

didn’t wake her up

I was too forlorn, but

That’s what you get for being born—

I was taking out the trash

like the other weak, with

The temper of a mime

I began to speak, when

She woke she’d a fever

and a thousand words, I

Guess I’d spoken them all before—

Must be something in the water

cause I’m overboard, with

The seaweed and the starfish

dried out on the shore, it’s

Nothing I would suggest

drowning in a well, it’s

Just a way to be by yourself—

She dreamt of her family

from the outer space, and

Gave me a healing

full of peace and grace, but

I took it for granted

like most lovers do, it’s

Loud as hell in this quiet room—

Words form a meaning

if you spin them right, it’s

Like turning hay to gold

if it’ll save your life, so

Leave the baby in the basket

wrapped by your front door, it’s

The price you pay for being born—

Acting like you don’t know is an art in itself

It’s hard

To see

Out this pit

Of despair

When you’re down

On your knees

In the cold

Summer air

And it’s hard

To conceive

Memories

When you care

Looking for

What you lost

In a house

Built of mirrors

And it’s hard

When you know

All of this

Is a joke

Convinced

Or exposed

Either way

There’s a host

To obey

Or believe

In what you

See in me

That’s alright

It’s ok

Sip your honey

and tea

I just thought

You should know

I don’t know—

Yeah I know