Away from the prying moon,
you smiled and stole the sunset glow.
My fingers flutter to grasp
your silver breath in slender wisps
as they wrapped themselves lazily
around the baleful clouds.

I'd feed you the stars but my
compliments always fall
wayside

The skies are a strangest hue and
my lips are blue
or maybe purple.

A sunny headache in my mouth; I'm choosing
a lover, a model,
a breathtaking disaster
who steals the water colors from my pictures,

turning my palettes to cinders and ash.
Colors no longer mean a thing

when you're around.
The liquid duochromes bleed into canvas
a perfect moment,
a perfect candid moment.

People rave, not seeing,
the beauty that the shadows withhold,
not comprehending,
my muse, my inspiration, my bowl of fruit,
my flaming ace and flaring ache.
I have decided. Made up my mind. And nothing you say is gonna make me change my mind.

Truth is, half the time I'm with him, all I wanted was to be you. So that we could all be happy. Because I don't fit in here. Don't fit in the space beside him. And I know you want to be where I am now as much as I want to stay.

And boy, you have no idea how your smile used to light up my heart. But now half the time I'm laughing with you, I'm breaking apart with all the hypocrisy and sin.

I don't think I can do this anymore. Everyone's telling me it's gonna be okay. Telling me to hold on to something that isn't even mine from the start. I had always been a fool. Made a fool out of everything we had. So now it's time to make things right.

So this time, I'm gonna play God. Gonna be a mini Jesus saving my own damned world.
Sometimes you're in a hole.
Where light draws its fingers back and turns its pretty face away.

No one comes around anymore. And no one round here came from here. You don't remember your name sometimes. And everyday, it gets harder and harder to remember.

You wait, expectantly. For something which for the life of you, you can't remember. The voices, people and colors blur at the edges, but sharper when you try to grasp them, cutting, slicing your fingers, mercilessly.

You forget how to breathe sometimes. Let alone scream. So you wait. Doing nothing, but waiting. For someone, something to give you something, anything to to feed on.

Sometimes, a soul walks by or two. Graces pass your hellish existence. And you wait. For their light to rub off against you. For their voices. Their warmth.

But you don't cry for help. You stay here. In this hole. Because rescue is too much of a saintly word. Too saintly for a damned soul like you.

And hope is too bleak for a soul like you.
It's as if someone took me apart, and I'm just standing there watching, as I lose grasp of you, myself and my world, bit by bit.