The way that it moves
The ceiling I mean...

The problem with long poems
The problem with these kinds...

Lining up the nightmares
Red parade marching on my wrists...

Riptides
Black holes...

I'm tired of being the bad guy
I'm tired of you pretending that what you do isn't...

The wave breaks like some fine liquor bottle
I look how I feel and now I know I feel awful...

My hands were shaking
That's how bad I wanted to go home...

Swing moved with no one on it,
There are ghosts but nobody's haunting...

What's wrong with me?
Well, chaos is something...

New poems begin
Another line ends...

The ending
The beginning...

Moonlight Sonata- Beethoven
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQVeaIHWWck...