Children when you grow up,
and you have children, too,
raise them in a house filled
with music, and books.
Tell them fairy tales, and
stories that cause them all to
dream, and imagine, things
that have never been, but if
only they would be.
Have them gaze upon a fire,
outback in the yard, or look up
high above, for a while, at the stars
so that they wonder.
Do this and you will make a world
that holds the stars, not up in the sky,
but on the ground.
Where no one ever fears the dark,
but sees it, better still, a place to write
every needful longing to smile, or laugh,
or sing out loud with glee, upon their hearts.
Children when you grow up,
"I’m down to my last
few shots of
Told her to fuck off
and die, today.
Can’t say I haven’t had
better moments, but I
finally figured - it was time.
Maybe there’s a part of her
that didn’t deserve it.
A side of her I don’t see, but,
sometimes, this fucking
time, none of that matters.
All you think about is the pain.
The disappointments that just
pile on, and on, and “suddenly”
…it just hits you like a truck.
And every good thing that kept
you hoping, kept you wanting to
believe, just goes away.
Just like that.
So I’ll finish the last of my regret.
Drink the last of it down, and wallow at
the bottom of this bottle for a while.
And in the morning I’ll wake up,
with my head and body all hung
over - feeling like I’ve been hit by a train.
I’ll chew a few pharmaceuticals I keep around,
for times such as this.
Chase them down with her favorite brand of coffee,
and I’ll look at the phone.
But it won’t ring.
I won’t call.”
"We’ve all gone crazy, lately"
It’s a strange thing how a good
One who truly loves a woman.
He will take and take and take.
Unconscionable abuse through
his undying commitment to her.
But then comes that cloudy day,
and with it a storm as never before.
Hope leaves him.
Even the hope of hope.
And he who would have died a
thousand times, dies only once.
He destroys fully and unrepentantly
that which he so loved.
And the woman having never learned
is consumed with him, forevermore.
"We bask in the glow of our
new found independence.
You and I, no longer killing
A separation of toleration.
Your words, not mine.
Tuesday’s are always hardest on me.
No particular reason why.
For some reason it just stuck,
became that way.
I’m usually okay with any other day.
Just not Tuesday.
I hear you’re still, always, somewhere
I guess you’ve found a new way to stick
it in me.
Make sure the bleeding doesn’t stop.
Either you’ve become the biggest cunt
I’ve ever known or somewhere in that
stone you call a heart there’s a piece
of you that refuses to forget, accept
this freedom thing.
I don’t have a fucking clue.
Maybe it’s for the best.
I’m already screwed up enough being
this damn happy.
Be around, darling.
Make sure to tell my friends I said hello.
Cause one thing’s for certain, I’m around.
At least, that’s what I hear.”
Alice never had a trip like this.
She only saw things for what
I’ve been down the rabbit hole,
and there’s a place she didn’t go.
Everything seems normal there.
Everyone is so pristine.
That shit scared the hell out of me,
because it wasn’t real.
But, oh, was it ever so surreal.
It’s a mystery.
Hidden somewhere down below
where everything seems so very strange there,
but it’s not real.
Little miss obsolete,
Why do you sit in the rain?
Your hair is all wet, and
your pretty dress wrinkled
Little miss obsolete,
why do you weep so all alone?
Your pretty eyes seem as coal,
and your smile is gone away.
Haven’t you heard, little miss,
wounded darling I once loved?
I hurt, too!
Perhaps, should you grant the chance,
I could share the rain with you.
And you and I can cry and cry.
Us two -
I like the smell of fresh cut grass,
of rain… ,
and dainty flowers.
I like it when a woman smiles my way.
Her scent when she bathes my soul with
I like to laugh.
I’m okay with making silly mistakes.
And I like to love, if only for the sake
These things are a part of me; the better
part, but they’re not all of me.
I like not knowing, most of all, because I’m
And one day all these magical things I’ve
only stated will make sense to the rest
I’ll know the why about them.
And I’ll know the who about me.
She lived and she died
a poor housewife,
T’ll the soul bells called
to guide her,
And they buried her beside him.
The weeping willow’s wept
And the hollows all were quiet.
Heaven waved her last goodbye,
as he lay there beside her smiling.
Their’s had been a life so cruel,
and it was a liar,
But they found their time to love
between the tears - and
laughter at the bottoms.
It is a risk to love.
What if it doesn’t
Ah, but what if it does?
…and I remember when people were good to each other. Not for the things they did, but because of the things they wouldn’t do.
"I know it’s been hard for you.
And I remember how much you
hurt when mom and I went away.
I saw it on your face, the tears you
tried so hard not to show.
I want you to know - I cried, too.
Mom said some awful things, I know.
I know that she blamed it all on you.
Blamed you for everything.
That she was disappointed and confused -
Daddy, I’m sorry.
Sorry I hated you then, but I know better
I know that mom was only lashing out,
needing to make some kind of sense of it all
at a time when nothing made any sense.
We had become - broken.
Daddy…I love you.
And I’ve tried to do my best.
I’ve tried to be a good person, to move past
back then and make something good
But there’s still this missing part, and it
leaves me feeling empty.
No matter what I do!
I miss you daddy cause I don’t get to see
Not like before.
Not like before we got broken.
And I need you.
It’s not the same, and I worry about losing you,
becoming not so special.
Not like I used to be.
Are you still proud of me?
Am I still pretty?
Am I still your princess?
"It had been a Friday.
It was night.
And I remember how nice it was,
how there had been a cool and gentle
that it kindly kissed your face and danced,
ever so gently, through your hair.
I’m sure we must have talked for hours, sitting
there, on the grass.
There had been music playing, somewhere,
and I swear I believed it played for us.
We knew the words to every song.
Or so it seemed.
I sang under my breath.
You hummed along.
And, when it was over, when we said
goodbye, it was such a beautiful thing, I thought.
Something that seemed so right.
Spending that time with you.
I never saw you after that.
We were just two people, kids really, who
And we talked
in a way that was so much more than words.
I still think of you.
And wherever you are I’d like to believe that,
maybe, sometimes you think of me, too.
That boy you met long ago.
So if, someway, you can hear me - hello.”
This heart of mine.
So loyal - misunderstood.
If I told you I would wait,
by the lonely brook, where
misfits like me go, would
your heart happen a smile?
And if I painted you a lovely
autumn’s sky, wrote your
name among the stars, would
you softly whisper “how sweet
you silly boy?”
I would do that.
I would do so much more.
I would give my last breath, if
only to amuse you, to have you
not forget the memories written
upon the history that is my face.
It was always you.
Always, only you.
I can’t forget that, once, it was always me,