Old stuff

innocence is the fault of youth

-

Saw my defining moment
saw it pass me by
didn't move a muscle
just stood and waved
goodbye

-

fucking mirror
who's laughing now?
huh?
you can't break me
I broke you.
Who's laughing
now.

-

if words could kill
you'd be dead a hundred times over
for all the times i've written
for all the times each word cut into me,
for every carefully crafted phrase.
i look at the past
at my writings
and see...
horror.
every word i wrote pains me now,
so much unhappiness on one little page
after one little page, after one little page.
what had me that way?
somehow i can only faintly recall

-

But this is a song over done
maybe one day we'll find the time to write
our own little songs.
Maybe one day we'll all know how.
'Cause sweetie can sing, but can't write his own.
He sings what he doesn't believe, doesn't understand.
I hear his voice and hear a lie.
A beautiful lie. A believable lie.
Write and singing, my own rough tunes.
They may be bad but at least they're true.
A love song, a hate song, a nonesense, a collage.
Little bird can borrow all my songs.
Take them and twist them and claim them.
Writing more is easiest.
It's me on a Greyhound. It's the subtle freak out.
It was the night we spent in the long grass.
The test that was left empty, & the words you never said to me.
Each truth will find it's time to finish
when the ink stains jump onto my fingers again.
When the ache of his empty place becomes too much

-

Yes i had said we needed a break.
i stand by it.
it wasnt an attack.
i cant feel devoted.
i never said i hate you.
i dont need you, and i need that.
not feeling what we used to pulls my mouth down
but that's not enough.
no more fights,
no more tears.
this is the end of it,
until we both think it's worth it.

-

A new pen.
Let it go.
Maybe this time.
Maybe in this one
I'll find the write words,
pen the perfect rhymes,
strike the right chords.
Maybe this time,
maybe this time i'll get it right.
Maybe this pen'll be the one
that I can write magic with

-

Fools rush in
where angels fear to tread

Fools rush in
where wise men never go.
But wise men never fall in love
so how are they to know?

-

Sometimes
frustration makes me scream
With you,
I never know which way's left.
So tell me to fix my hair.
I'll gurdgingly oblige.
I avoid conflict.
Isn't that a shame?