Tilt my head left and right,
but it wont alter the images I see...

Somber: the bus-missing days,
Turned imperviously on by the rain...

Death advances now
on the front line...

I toss your roses to the dirt,
and watch as you smile and weep...

Grace was lying next to the riverbank,
on another frigid Wednesday morning...

Behold myself,
recognize then many a scene...

Hark; its something disheartening:
A strangled strand of words, sobbing...

Love was the fishing wire that tied our wrists...
We were too drunk with youth to see anything but...

Time drizzles by on the pavement,
the dark pitter-patter of the city lights...

Music moves me, simply;
It seeps into the hollowness...

One more pair of blue eyes,
yet another plastered smile...

We took a forward plunge into a cesspool of stars,
Dove headfirst into the vastness of watery...