Someday I'm sprouting wings
and I'm gonna fly so far away...

Lovely veils of blackened lace
sleep silently, masking exhausted eyes...

I hate to play the jealous one,
with her pretty pistole on her head...

The thunder crashes open another day,
screaming proofs into unsure ears...

For some reason, these words are blocked from me,
No poems need to pour out...

There's this street-corner word
that we all seem to need...

She's screaming out goodnight,
not planning on waking up...

A thousand broken wings
and a half a dozen burned out candles...

These every night
broken lullabies...

Twirl a little faster, sunshine,
and hold your head up high...

Inject me with this false hope,
praying that I get better; hung by silken thread...

Fear, rapid breathing in and out,
exhaltation of insecurities...