Typewriter Paintbox

I'm but a dream.
Floating on the other night.
Dying in my sleep.

I remember days...
long ago
When the dead one took from me
What could only belong...
To the one I loved...

He took it from me
And all I can do is cry about it

There was a time
When I could smile
And the smile had more
Than a joke behind it

But those times are gone
And now I'm buried in arsenic
Torn between what I want to do
And what I have to do

I can't turn my sapphire eyes
To the sky that mirrors
My empty world
Of dark clouds and
frightful thunder...

There is a broken mirror in my tired soul
I can't see myself in it
But I can see everything else
And it's so easy to criticize
When I feel so pitiful
And it's so easy to miss her
When I have her number in my hand
And I can't pick up the phone
I can't say I miss you
I can't scream I love you
I can't...
Do anything about it



There was a time
When I could smile
And the smile wouldn't mean nothing
Because I'm crying inside

But no one needs to know
How rotten I feel inside
When that man stole from me...
Stole from me...
He...
Stole...
My sexuality...

And there was nothing I could do
But be cast aside
To the only place I want to be...
But could never be..
In the alleyway...
Where I might be able to roam the streets...
For just maybe a moment...
Then die of withdrawal
From my drug, your sin, my terrible lie
And my grandfather can only look down on me...

And say...

"You're not a poet...
...You're just hopeless."