requiem

tears of joy and tears of pain these tears pour from a heart filled with disdain. tired eyes from vivid lies these thoughts of love can come from only agony above. your exotic and erotic cares are brought about by me pulling your hair not the memories of starry nights and me protecting you through bar room fights. just a little price of bleeding compares nothing to the reward of your heart retreating. none of its real the thoughts you filled me with were too surreal i must appeal to the submission of your affections thats it i dont want anymore i will not be this man whore. you say you see through me but look what you were able to do to me none of it was fair the way you could strip me bare the core of me spills to the floor just clean me up im the requiem of your dream i was never really there i hate you i curse you i ban you dont come near you must create lies of how i wasnt a man to you. i am above it all looking down at you squabbling for affections crying through rejections empty souls receive only the horrors they bestow through their deepest lows and its the ones on the top who shall always fall, we all now move on to the next "love" call.

make any sense? btw i wrote it in 6:25 linstening to.. drunk lol
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYC3as3rwLk&feature=related

self misery

in my heart of hearts i find my self stuck between the near unbearable sweetness of love and the inevitable pressure for pain. i live my days at 90 miles an hour trying to encompass every moment of it and walk away feeling it was just a glimpse of what could've been. then the night comes and i feel suspended in time watching the seconds slowly pass by. i find my confidence in myself nearly comical at how sure i am nothing could hurt me and i flaunt it and fear nothing. then the sun sets and everyone goes home and im left alone with nothing to worry me except the depths of my own mind and understanding. it is here that i have learned to fear. with every positive quality i have (so many lol), in my mind lies its imaginative adversary battling my conscience. i find myself stuck between a complex, witty, and evil mind, and a simple and large caring heart. i found i have an odd sense of enjoying certain physical pain: i never go to the hospital and i wait extended periods of time to resolve pain. i dont use any pain relievers, even when i was 10 i severed my finger and i had the doctor not knock me out so that i could watch him reconstruct my shattered bone and sew the skin back together. i dont go looking to get hurt, but im never afraid of it because i realize tonight that it balances me; i want my body to feel the pain my heart holds.
and that is my monday night while my friend lauren dreams of pink lamborghini's or some crap.

Home of the Brave

some feel the power and some feel the awe, most feel the coat tails of riding too long. weary and sore, desperate and tired, but alone no more. hope and hands grasp their bodies like a warm towel on a cold nights swim but only til the night breeze blows. we realize through mediums of music, lyrics and lights our heart can take our souls tears but only just and no more. a collaboration of mediums to personify a mood, then responded to it physically and emotionally. i find time heals the deepest wounds only to those brave enough to open them relentlessly. an understanding and acceptance of pain mixed with relentlessness to a souls innocence. cures aren't quick. the swallow burns the throat, patronizing the disease. time though, through the unvarying of pain, understands the value of freedom. once quelled, only then wields power, and relinquishes awe upon their coat-tailed woeful.

Bite the Dust

We all spend a night empty handed and empty hearted. Tuck your happy illusioned friends away and lay alone wondering why not you. Rooms and parties full of solo cups of confidence; songs requiring dates to dance to, and neither were offered to you. Your wit and charm lay on deaf ears and false judgments or predetermined opinions. Your glow went unnoticed amidst the candle lit windows of old New York at bed time. Every detail specifically selected the hours leading up to the nights endeavor and all thrown off in unison at a hollowing nights end. What blurs initializations promising sparkle? When does a singles nights loneliness become a repetitive sadness to a yearning soul for companionship? When does the random night alone become a trend of self uncertainty and sure doubt in self worth and sure conspiracy? Repetitive loss does not validate quality of choice, rather diminishes hope in the quality of the minds vision to treat the sentence of solitary confinement to its weary heart. Settling for less will not cure the souls melting boundaries. Shimmers of hope mend the dripping emotional goo like freshly made creepy crawlers to a boy lost in his closet of wonder and time. Wonder and time. Those used to cure the soul of the youth for hours on end until exhaustion from the unrelenting battle of both was ceased by a third party. The subconscious yearning for a break the heart would never give up on and the mind never dulled to explore. A souls subconscious at odds with the bodies for its hopes, dreams and realities seemingly always regulated by another. You can't make me wonder about you, dream about you or realistically be with you; but if i wonder about you, dream about you and realistically find you, my mind heart and soul will never let go of you.

Peter Pans Getaway

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQAXpo_wiXQ

Fields of evergreen clovers cling to our naked ankles by dawns wet dew as we near the hidden spring sparkled by fragments of morning light through the thick canopy of oak as if cascading into our wild cove. Our clothes draped across the grandest of rocks; the cold grips our flesh as our heartbeats rise while staring into each others wild green eyes through our smokey exhales. Turned on by the heat escaping the other we enter the spring hand in hand as the ripples return in the smallest of waves creeping up the back as the bodies spectrum of temperatures is fused into a symphony of adrenaline at the verge of anticipation for the initial gravitation towards her soft sweet lips as she hides her smirk and falls in love.

Be Vewy Vewy Qwuiet

I can't tell her about the nights I lay out to gaze at stars and wish i was looking into her eyes.
I can't tell her how I'd turn down Mozart and lean against the bathroom door just to listen to her sing.
I cant tell her that I'd rather put a box of puppies dressed as sailors down and hold her hand just a little bit longer.
I can't tell her about the mind control she acquires while I'm captivated by her scent every time she moves past me.
I can't tell her how I lose my appetite by the simple taste of her sweet soft lips.

I can't tell her that I begin every day hoping for a beautiful end to it with her because it is only her that I wish to see, hear, feel, smell and taste day after day, time after time, in a seemingly continuous plateau of sensory satisfaction that my mind cannot break down and my heart may never completely grasp.

She can't know how to defeat me. She can't know to defeat my relentless passion she merely has to distinguish the essence of her that embodies every aspect of beauty I yearn to make memories with.

gone baby gone

love is tricky. here's the problem: there's a hierarchical time line. past, present and future. the past reflects an established order of thought altering the present either reluctantly fearful or aggressively optimistic for the future, naive in its essence epitomizing high risk high reward; the epitome of a gamblers disease or the self destruction of the beauty that held the flicker of light in the first place. you think you know a person until they're tested. a scramble to re-order their priorities leaves you confused and unrelenting. a last ditch effort to regain the line that held your souls counterpart. you hold the rope as the speed in which it departs burns every bit that you hold tight. it's past the point that you want to pull a person back from abrupt abyss. you just want to run to someone that wants to run with you. tip being: don't chase the ones that are never real with their friends. cut her down or cut her loose