am i to fix myself to this time alone? like ivy so old that it holds together stone my darling, i'd wait, but i just can't stay here so i'll lose you today and a little more every year do i keep on until i have had my fill? or rot in the dirt like some long dead daffodil? my darling, you live for the hope of a spark but you cannot know the light if you've never felt the dark dismissive of praise, yet denied any blame destined to live neither proud nor ashamed have you forgotten the promise you made? the words are all there but they've started to fade

i'm tired of spending all this time getting rid of what i've got and everything i'm getting now is sick or made of rot but don't think that i've given up i cannot change my mind i'd have a better chance at turning water into wine it seems like we have said goodbye close to a hundred times and maybe right before we hit that mark the count will cease to climb and i can give up everything i want and do all there is to do but goodbye number ninety-nine will make its way to you fold, fold, fold! fold your hands and kneel cry, cry, cry! without a script can you still feel? hide, hide, hide! you hide your weakness with your strength i don't know how you expect to survive loving at arm's length something in your binding changed when i pulled you off the shelf i had killed the boy you loved and you nearly killed yourself and i can't give up anything i need and there's so much more to do so goodbye number ninety-nine has made its way to you

how've you been? i hope you don't make a scene. we get along so well- until i bring up anything. leave it be, this is just boring me no one one the war but i will write the history tell me what love means to you so i can disagree darling, let's get temporary! locked in place, decisions might cross your face i say what's on my mind i listen, but i don't reply standing there, rain dripping from our hair Tiersen tells me to go through tears and sad arpeggios tell me what love means to you so i can disagree darling, let's get temporary! x2

please be gentle i've lost a friend when will your ghost appear? i've been waiting at the end give me some kind of sign i'm seeing signs in every light halos of warm yellow glow in the frosted windows at night now all my love is gone let me rest i miss you in my lungs and the way you made me cry like sweet april pollen in the rain is how you died when will your ghost appear? are you here, or are you gone? when will you haunt me? will you be gone for long? now all my love is gone let me rest

write me a postcard that makes you think of me so i can think of you when you're thinking of me when walking St. John's Wood, the streets and the fever, the urge indescribable, terrible, beautiful, writer your feet must have felt so on fire like your heart and your eyes filled with tears and desires and regrets and resolve and no focus at all, just an angelic wanderer, never living at all and when you're done being gone let me know that you're okay life across centuries, loneliest exile! you live inside typewriters, 180 vinyl shards, lightbulbs and shower scars, polaroid paradise, frescoes from Italy season your floor and your arrows of apathy run through your flesh like some bored St. Sebastian so fed up with feeling, you're drinking the empathy drawn by your friends busy feeling so full and so empty you're trying by worshipping Sylvia, Mangum and Hemingway, Newsom and writers of lovely and dreary things. whisper their names in a soft hallelujah while they should be praying to yours and when you're done being gone let me know that you're okay

it's been a couple weeks since you died i think i'm taking it rather well for the guy who tried to save your life! of course that's up for argument you'd have never had the guts to finish that cocktail you would choke and then you'd bail paisley wrists and circle scarves lavender and lace every track was on repeat we would cry and stamp our feet but now you're gone and i'm alone and happier than sin i wasn't glad to see you go but then again, how would i know? just like so many conversations so many nights we wasted so many times we could have smiled some days, it's a battle knowing you're not here and sometimes i don't know why i ever shed a tear some days i forget what it's like to feel at all but some day, some day, some day will mean nothing if you decide to call! would i care enough to answer, or would it cost too much? i assume it isn't free to call from India to me i'll make a dusty dozen from the postcards that you send saying, "Greetings from the Dead! Hello! Namaste, shanti!" some days, it's a battle knowing you're not here and sometimes i don't know why i ever shed a tear some days i forget what it's like to feel at all but some day, some day, some day will mean nothing if you decide to call

your jaw's been shut since the day that you could talk and you sat down when you learned to run away now you've a taste for a different kind of waste and you reap the fear that you sowed yesterday please be gentle please be gentle when you go give me the sad news you'll feel better if i know and we'll give each other better news soon when you lay down and the heat of summer sin dries the grass that you decide to lay upon you'll peel your skin and you'll light another grin and watch the ashes reach so desperate for the sun have i found what i want? am i satisfied with where i place the fault? another broken heart is pouring through my fingertips and as it's falling it becomes a ring of salt please be gentle please be gentle when you go give me the sad news you'll feel better if i know x2

i sit along the bridge i throw a stick into the creek but it won't come out of the other side just think of better days they can bring to you a tear or two the price you have to pay to finally be satisfied and i cannot forget but i don't exactly remember tuck away the years left in a tome from your old home when you find them again, what will you care? i sit along the bridge between today and yesterday the river sings, "You won't come out the other side!" and i cannot forget but i don't exactly remember the memories are pressed together, flattening with age it's getting hard to tell between the petal and the page! between today and yesterday! bring to you a tear or two- because the binding tears or the water wears what i wished would last forever if i cast a light or i hold too tight it'll crumble altogether and so i will not forget but i don't exactly remember, yet.

i will wipe from my cheeks all the love that you gave me but the ink from your letters will stain my face and i leave all the words that i know will not save me and those that remain will be my only saving grace. and i'll fight through the rain and the floods of self-interest clutching close your postcards and your darkest days and i'll leave them on the curb for the morning to take them i think that i'll appreciate the honesty of waste i'll dry off the keys and i'll fire up the engine and drive to the nearest place i once knew you i'll look to the typewriters thrown to the water how much indecision will they never come to know? their fragile voices say, "LOOK DEEP INTO THE EYES THAT READ YOU." in that most brief of moments, your heart will be stripped bare all that you will know is love of life and no devotion and death will rid the earth of worship and despair i'll wake up late, stinking of fire filthy with memory and dried up desire because i stayed up all night, burning a bridge with a match that i've been holding for so long i'll run as the paint of the world runs before me lifting all the lines between the blessed and the damned the canvas underneath is like a dream after a nightmare the comfort of the wool after the horn of the ram read every line of every poem and every novel die to all the music, and shave off all your hair walk every step of every road in every country you'll never find yourself if you keep looking there. we'll walk from our lives in a blaze of translation and sweep away each footprint that we ever left behind and i'll wait by the pond for the evening to take me and i won't look back and a smile will crack... i'll wake up late, stinking of fire filthy with memory and dried up desire because i stayed up all night, burning a bridge with a match that i've been holding for so long x2 and just because i'm happy doesn't make it wrong

shadows shift as the sun sets slowly a memory is a fading story i feel that i've knelt here before running from those i adore humming through a loop so strange endless melodies that change i cling to hope and will leave behind old feelings bound to words and the binding in my mind and the way i told you off and how i thought i knew so much all the poetry and prose as brittle as a dried rose and an agony ago, i lost count of the goodbyes. i don't think that this ink is meant to dry shadows sing as the sun sets slowly about a present, past and lonely but maybe now the woods align if i lift my face and turn it could finally be time i know this haunted wood is mine and a part of me remains all the poetry and prose as brittle as a dried rose but now i know what brought me here, (pass me by) and the spirits pass me by. (think this ink) i don't think that this ink- (meant to dry) the ink's not meant to dry (yet to fall) i know the night has yet to fall (in it all) i take comfort in it all (it is time) and it could finally be time (have to find) i have myself to find it could finally be time i have myself to find