a drop of dylan thomas.

do not go gentle into that good night

rage, rage against the dying of the light

i will sing.

fly fly away

and know that you were loved 

sleep sleep sleep

and rest if you must

everything you wanted to do it is done

and if i must carry on

and all that is left is this song to be sung

i will sing, sing, sing, i will sing

i will sing 

i will, 

i will sing

silhouettes and streetlights.

in a corner of paris 

in a darkened studio

amidst a disarray of tangled limbs 

and pillows on the floor

your breath is slow and even

your lips pressed against my throat

you smile in your sleep 

and i wish i could go where you go

when your dreams carry you away 

the sky is dark, bluish gray 

and the leaves are burnished gold

the days end quickly 

and though the nights are cold

the window is flung open 

and on the streets below

a single set of headlights 

illuminates the snow

drifting down lazily 

as the moment seems to slow

and you shiver in your sleep 

and reach out to bring me close

there's a pause between our heartbeats 

running through the darkness 

with my hand held in yours

silhouettes against streetlights 

that set the night aglow

though there are many places 

that i have called my own

there's never any doubt you are my home 

stumbling over cobblestones 

in the narrow streets of rome

pressing our tongues against 

melting ice cream cones

wandering through ruins 

where sound speaks in echoes

our laughter is mingling 

with centuries of hope

as we stand at a fault line 

of the new world meeting old

running through the darkness 

with my hand held in yours

silhouettes against streetlights 

that set the night aglow

though there are many places 

that i have called my own

there's never any doubt you are my home 

when the adventure is ending 

and drawing to a close 

i will hang up my hat 

and take off my coat

and when i'm writing the epilogue 

to the grandest story told

there will never be any doubt you were my home

running through the darkness 

with my hand held in yours

silhouettes against streetlights 

that set the night aglow

though there were many places 

that i called my own

there was never any doubt you were my home

there was never any doubt you were my home

cigarettes and a touch of pink.

she smells like cigarettes and a touch of pink

a mix of bad with innocent

a sideways smile on blood red lips

with a little shrug she starts to sing

i'm medicated up to my neck

i'm dedicated but such a wreck

its complicated but whatever's next

i think i'm ready for the test

if it breaks me

i'm just gonna get up

if it hurts me

you know that's what i like

if it kills me

well, i guess that's fine

i felt alive 

i felt alive

i felt alive

she stumbles home in six inch heels

all golden skin and sex appeal

whisky-soaked and out of breath

says i've never looked before i leapt

hell, i think i'm brave but i hate the dark

i know i crave leaving a mark

i'm educated but not so smart

i never know when to stop

if it breaks me

i'm just gonna get up

if it hurts me 

you know that's what i like

if it kills me

well, i guess that's fine

i felt alive 

i felt alive

i felt alive

wait
you see, i know you're right
that you're the sanest voice
that's running through my head at night
but as the reel unwinds
and the time ticks by
the picture shakes
the tracks are misaligned

sometimes it's all too
slow, slow, slow
and it feels like i'm losing my mind
fast, fast, fast
and i, i am falling behind
wait, wait, wait
i don't know how this thing goes, but

if it breaks me

i'm just gonna get up

if it hurts me 

you know that's what i like

if it kills me

hell, i guess that's fine

i felt alive 

i felt alive

i felt alive

this is not my fight.

he said your story's so fucking tragic

if i read it you'd have my sympathy

but living in it with you

is more than you can ask of me 

you make sad look so peaceful 

but the stillness does not run deep

and there's no one that can fix

what's broken underneath

i gave it my everything

until you wrung all the caring out of me

and now i look at you

and think its time you set me free

of all this misery 

and hope for things that you can never be

untitled.

under the setting sun, we
shared our thoughts and memories
you kissed me until i
drew a breath and began to cry
for the things that i had seen, they
broke my heart and took my breath away
until you came and kissed me free
and breathed meaning into me.

imperfection.

Imperfection might be the reflection of

Scintillating smooth ripples of butterflies

Melting warm on my tongue

Hot bullets shooting outward like a raging fire against

The roof of my mouth on every pressured breath

Maybe crying slippery crystal tears that fall, tinkling like

Small silver bells carried, jostling, in a quart berry basket

Maybe laughing wide because of the tricks yet to be played

Capers gone unnoticed amongst a fury of suspicion

Selling an unsuspecting hen a lottery ticket

...Faking an utterly perfect egg

...Advising a captured balloon to freedom

...Pretending that the tail isn't mine

...What tail?

Maybe rolling over sleepily on a bleary winter morning

Shrinking to the size of a pea wrapped in a cozy pod of down

Drowning in an intense apathy for fiercely brushing

My tooth with a thrice-sharpened axe of ancient toothbrush fame

Maybe dreading the future keeps me snuggled and afraid

Of the weary children slaving on Saturdays trapped

Beneath a hot, bright, noisily shining Sun that somehow

Is a little farther than over there

. ..A little longer than forever and a day

...A little faster than the raging wind

...A little more perfect than nothing

...And everything -

Is hanging in anticipation of the rain crashing down

Maybe sloshing against the wet and heavy air

Washing clean the scratchy thoughts and dust collections

Of imperfections from my hair