so i guess this means you're my hopeless muse

we'll dance along the parapets
and let our bodies fall into the night
and the moon will be our guide,
while the peasants below chant
"Merry, my friends,
the world is ending,
O! this is the end."

and we'll fly into the cirrus clouds
and tumble into sheets of white
and the sun will steal our lives,
while the cities below scream
"what, damned fiends,
the ice is melting,
we're drowning again!"

so the moon is our guide
and the sun steals our lives,
the clouds are a bed
and the castle our clothes

the cities are screaming
and the peasants all shout,
"come out, you liar,
come out."

i'll let it go to "next"

there was a boy,
and he was smiling,
but he did not know at what,
so he smiled for the world
and drowned in his own image.

there was another,
and he was smiling,
he was smiling for a reason,
because he had love in his vest
and air coursed through his lungs.

one day they met,
and there was a change,
and smiling gave way to chance,
and music played loud,
and one of them was convinced that the other was real.

rupture

i heard that you took yourself away,
and you thought it would be better,
far away and safely sleeping,
a clean white sheet for a revolutionary
to wrap around his body and cry to the gods...

and then i let my life slide so gently from my pocket,
so that i could tell myself that you were alive,
but the pale white light fell away,
and suddenly the world was falling into a chorus,
and it was only a moment in time
that saw it rent in two.

placeholder III

even if they don't love you, i do.

brick walls

my hair is shorter -
finally.
and my eyes are wider
once again.
my face is shorter but my thoughts are longer
and the world is turning faster and faster.
so if the days don't last
and the summer falls,
winter springs,
and the world stalls,
i'll live these days like they're my last -
fully,
funly,
frantically,
fast.

a placeholder II

good luck, dovey.

hello

it seems like ages since we last locked eyes,
like months or years or more.
but i guess that's how it goes, you know,
and it doesn't really make me mad.

i've read a thousand books of lore
since the day i saw you go,
and now you're back i'm sort of sad,
because you wouldn't say hello.

while i wait

what does one do
when it can't be returned?
when the cymbals crash and the fires burn,
there's a hushed little scream
that is boiling up fast,
the feeling is over but the emotion lasts...
and it can't be returned,
it can't be returned.

on the varying temperatures of life and love

what's the forecast, weatherman?
will you tell of storms and rain and hail and snow?
will you give me the news on how the wind blows?
i've been waiting so long just to see how it goes,
weatherman, weatherman, let me know.

and though i'm standing still,
i don't know if i've been blown off course,
i don't know whether your can feel my remorse,
with no rhyme, no reason, there's no source,
weatherman, weatherman, it's a matter of force.

why am i always wrong, weatherman?
where is the road to friends and smiles and love and life?
where is the counter to the hardhearted knife?
i've been trying so hard just to end this strife,
that i almost missed the song-

"weatherman, weatherman, prove me wrong."

if i didn't feel so removed

i love you all and i love you too
only i don't know if i love you true,
because you talk to me as if i'm the second choice
or maybe you just need to hear a voice
but i love you regardless...
i'll go on and on.

a placeholder

goodnight, my someone, i hope you are loved.

i will never write

I played. I played when you told me to stop, and I played because you told me to stop. The keys were my salvation and your damnation, and for that I love them all the more. I will continue to play out your heart and into mine, like some infernal leech that just won’t go away. Imagine that, my source – out of your very body you bore your undoing. I will play on in the darkness and in the light, and I will love it as the creatures love the night. I will make music that hurts your head, and I will be happy in the end. I’m your own little changeling, meant to kill, your own precious baby, the source of your will. And I’m the one that will kill you, if words can kill, because I hate you, and I always will.