for two pennies and a nickellet's get lost in metaphorand drown ourselves in pretty wordswe can walk through the grey matterseparating hemispheresand listen to their whispers echo overheadleaving our footprints as a lobotomybetween reason and excusefrolic with me, in a field of wildflower thoughtwhere we can skip the stones we've kept buriedand kick any loose pebblesback and forth, from untied shoes to bare feetuntil we stumble upon greater meaning-those mountains only the crows talk about nowwe may climb and meet bodhisattva,Cleopatra and the Queen of Shebabut the peak is indefinite mistto our naked imaginationthere will be nothing left but to slide back down the rubblewaving goodbye forever to the reincarnationsand gods of make believewhistling songs from a childhood forgottenand playing follow the leaderall the way home
how to take someone for granted (instructions).i. when the weight of the world is on their shoulders, leave them be.when the heaviness transfers to you,expect their sympathy.ii. goodnight cuddles and kisses add a nice touchto a relationship; it is far too muchfor them to ask you to listen.too much time is wasted, you see.iii. yes, when they are curled up crying with their blanket or duvet or whatever instead of you for warmth, you know you're doing well.they are beginning to tellthat you only want them for your own need.iv. endless messages flood your phone. inbox. voicemail. letterbox. they want you but you are not there.you don't care. congratulations - you're not too attached.v. now it's the time to find someone newto bend-over-backwards and jump through hoops for you.she has gone crawling to someone else for support and is trying to forget your existence.and just how do you feel about that?
HopeThere are so many dayswhen humanity frightensthe most compassionateperson awayit takes only a knifeor a word or a gun, andoh god,we scare so easy.I'm tired of livingwithout faith,without promise,I'm tired of not believingin tomorrow.There may not be a god abovebut believer or not,there are so manyreasons to loveI'm not giving upI'm not letting go;I'm going to dreamand one dayperhaps I will flyand I will believethe best of peopleuntil it kills me,because the momentthat you give upis the momentyou become the problem.
The Pianistthis poster outside my windowis torn and see throughtoo frail to lastoh, what were you expectingit's just a gutter press collagethe sun I painted on the ceilingis maybe the only thingI'll missI'm praying to never come backfrom this journey as I hit the keysbut when the music fades awaythe walls I built will start to crushand as the pain of truth invadesI realise that happiness can never lastand yet another tune I playand still the future's a replayed pastthe fight's uneven my life's at stakeI'm struggling to make a new world out of dustI lean against the bodythat gives me breadand hope and strengthI rely on nobodyI write my story without a penNo one will ever read itbut still I want itto be heardI hope it won't get lost throughthe deafening noise of the modern Worldbut when the music fades awaythe walls I built will start to crushand as the pain of truth invadesI realise that happiness can never lastand yet another tune I playand still the future'