if Sarah was this nightly ruse
waiting for someone new...

the climb of heat
is but summer ploy...

the sun climbs
up a stairwell...

i'm going
to be productive today...

not particularly fond
of the best way to describe this...

calling bipolar by its name
is giving it power...

these sultry lips taste forsaken leaves
as they fall south within a morning gust...

you gave me color
back when gray had no meaning...

if I were to be honest
honest with myself...

dirty streets
with simple hands...

if I was just another sunrise
where the water reflects...

suicide is a forest fire
& honestly Sarah...