I want to

I want, too

I want two

Wishing wandering star in your eye

 Make it bright and say good-bye.

It fades into the morning altogether a little too fast

Can'tseecan'tthinkcan'tbreathecan'tbelieveinthegreylighthourlikesomething thatyoucouldneverfindandsuddenlywhenyourealizethatit'sbeenyouallalongyoujust

Stop.

One more day won't hurt you. One more night will never harm you.

And then you see, fooling yourself into believing in all those slowly turning autumn leaves, afloat in the air

dancing among the sunlight and the smoke

It's not so bad after all. The city, rising behind you like a lover with lost words - dissolving into the colourless light and you

you can walk once again underneath in the silence of the unspreading sycamores.

Round and round it goes

 no one can stop it

   no one knows, in the soft night.  Deep, with the crackling and snapping static of a poorly transmitted darkness, the evening fades in and out of this fuzzy existence - lined with care, worn with age - everything you work so hard to let go of, in the fastness of the umber night.

And no one sees, like diSaronno running rivers in the empty avenues out into the silent ocean, glittering underneath the buzzing streetlamps

 where they may or may not stand tonight.

Red-lighting not fighting dimly lit above ground it's hot and feels like floating and runs circles - so endlessly, like the smoke overhead, hiding the door from sight, you can't escape oh no, not tonight.

     Quiet, without silence just the volume turned down the the derelict telly collecting dust all summer, sitting and staring.  You know, before you turn it on, it spends all day watching you? - just like your favorite programme.

And now the night wants to let it go - wondering if it can, if you can, with the neon streaks fading into dawn and everything you want slipping fast out of grasp

 and not breathing

    and not believing.

Walking, under the quiet plane trees with you

   just listening

        and responding in kind.

Beautiful as a watercolour memory, where the wind blows upon the shore, and each autumn leaf is gently falling and drifting in shadows

Nothing said, nothing wrong, nothing out of place - just like his other self

But that's long gone by now.

Hello, James.

I'm asking you now - leave me alone.

Stop haunting my footsteps!  There's nothing left for you to take, and the lie I fell in love with unraveled a long, long time ago.  You, clever deceiver and false deliverer, coming through to me like smoke through the keyhole and into my throat and my soul, who do you think will save me in the end?

So let it be known for what we believe in.

 I can see no reason for it to fail.

Liar, justifier, pathetic pacifier - to soothe my lonesome and troubled heart - who, you?  I'd die of ridicule and laughter if that prophesy ever came to pass and now, now you're hanging onto my unfinished sentences and residing in the bottom of my untouched shotglasses.  Seeing you everywhere is like looking through absinthe, and discovering the fool in me all over again.

So please stop - you won't come pleading and seeking me.

Where is the sense in resurrecting that memory out of the ashes of a long-gone delusion?  O unhappy innocence, hand in hand with wretched naivete - it's gotta stop somewhere; let it be now.

Why are you crying?  It's only rain.

That's the uh nothing time when you're not awake not sleeping and you hope you'll wake as a different person.

Just 'cause you fall into your dreams not knowing who you are doesn't mean that's the way it'll stay.

Give me the sweet and voodoo that you do oh you do so well, stop finding me between my footsteps and in every sharp inhale and unreleased oxygen.  Why do I still see your face, beneath every other love I'd thought I found and lost?  Sailing away into tomorrow, and that's just the way it is sometimes but never all the time, when the hot silent sunshine fades away into the crevices of your mind, and m-m-making me wonder in wandering wishes.

I'd sleep underneath the window so the hopeful air can find its way to me, loving and leaving and all on over again.

It's over.  Not making a sound, crying in the door

The red-painted door.

Oh how did you do

you pretty thing

those things I never knew?

Maybe when you walk trippin' down that sunlit sidestreet thinking of everything you should've been, and the question - that's the answer you seek in a memorandum of ravens and writing desks - seems to look out at you from behind those paper-thin windowpanes above the entangled fire escapes that stop you from finding the way out. Out of here. You see, there used to be a time when all I wanted was to love love and be loved but that knife is just a bit too dull now, and old blood never really does altogether disappear.

I gets a little blue, baby, without you. You gave it to me in a Dali landscape and dirty needles where everything was falling apart atom by fucking atom, and flying back together in a beautiful whirlwind where lost can't be found and the faded wallpaper sighs with lost content, because everything you used to know has gone away by now.

Don't you see the lonesome light, shining from the lifeless moon and reflecting off all the lives you should have led?

And you

oh you

just left me to stand by the lowriding conniver's highway, behind the setting sun and the stolen cars in this funny city where everything is just a feverish dream of a drunk out in the rain down on one knee, where all your wants keep on unraveling into the sky and letting you go on, waiting for them that you loved once, maybe, a long time ago to remember you and appear to you right out a reverie and into your Mondays of coffee and uncurling train rides and uncoloured laughter. Goin' on goin' out goin' out West, darling, and that's just the way it is sometimes.

It's an awful long way from here to eternity.

Please stop singing that haunting refrain

I don't want it to keep lingering in this cold and airless room.

You cut through the night like a black-and-white nightmare and your face just won't dissolve away - it seems it's burned right into my heart with all those sad solitary nighttime figures who appear to wander at will, going nowhere fast, while the asphalt beneath their feet just keeps on spinning 'round.

Reaching through the unlit hallways and shattered windows of this place I called home, and pluck me right out of the twilight half-dawn - it never gets any brighter, but then it hasn't gotten dark yet. Please, why can't you say the things I want to see and dance with me, just you and I, alone on the streets where you found this shaded life.

I'd dance, right here - underneath the streetlamps that long since stopped shining for the nighttime that's been poured straight into a shot-glass and drunk so fast and dropped right down that you can feel the heat burning your heart as if you swallowed the glowing end of a cigarette.

It gets so lonesome, and it's a damn lowdown dirty shame, wishing that I'd finally just give it up and go on home - but helplessness took me hostage today. I don't go home with nobody else, and no man's folded hands will ever reach out to me again and let's make sure, dear heart, that we won't fall for those cardboard kisses blown beneath the moonlit sky to me and mine.  It's like seeing through a chainlink fence, I just can't make out who you are anymore but we no longer hope for that something sweet that we missed by the slightest sleight-of-hand.

Just keep on walking down where your memory stood, once, 'cause I can't seem to sequester my sadness in your eyes anymore.

You know, it's been nearly a year since I decided to post here.

And oh, if you told me everydirtyprettytinylittlething would happen the way it did, I would've laughed.

Poor careless heartless girl used to floating free in the darkening roads like the snow under the streetlight, creeping in slowly beneath the chainlink fences - just to catch a memory like a dragonfly in a glass jar - just to look at, and keep in a place where nothing means everything and something is not really anything at all. Little schoolgirl grew up can't you see, through every sad and sodden night and in the small hours of the greylight morning, circling like the smoke of an unfinished cigarette except it's not.

Stop.

Never thinking it could be fearsome, that I would be harmed, you wind your way through the past underneath the things you want to lose and give away. We looked for love, didn't we? and found it behind a cracked mirror so far from the hazy imaginings of a night-dreamt reverie.

The black-and-white nightmares no longer haunt my footsteps, and it almost seems as though the past would let me go and I turn a corner - wait! for the lazy laughter that gently whispers into your ear, pulling you back and back, wishing for the dream to drown you now in a sea of salt and lost songs.

Did you ever bleed hope?

And when they've left not to come back, and the sky smiles plaintively down at you oh human child, it's gonna be alright, it'll be okay. His face will always appear to you through the rain, your heart will pulse faster, he comes to you through the veil of a mourning mist and keeps on walkin' because it's just another stranger without an umbrella. Who can you dance for now, as the sun peers over the skyline of the city he left behind?

I'm still lying on the floor, watching the sun shift in melancholia and madness and the dust - the dust floats on 'til eternity and not a damn thing will change, hiding underneath the smoke in the room. Admiring nothing, yet lost in wonder...a circle, cutting paths into tomorrow. Let us not hope, let us learn this serene death of the sun, and now the day is done we rest in silent half-peace never disturbing in his sleep the savage and the taciturn god of yesterday.

'Cause today, you don't know who you are.

Why? If bleeding is believing - I saw you crawling to the door.

Something's changed, and I don't quite know what.

Well walking down that cobblestone street seeing the girlhood ghosts that have fled me now are long since gone, rusted iron ladders leading nowhere at all yet all asking to be climbed, and remembered, again. I feel like breathing, seeing you through the windows whose cracked glass had solidified into brick and mortar - I feel like bleeding and it would run rivers through the streets that love me.

There's something gone, something missing, and underneath that opaque white sky if I cried for the heart we had to leave behind, you'd tell me that in the end it would be alright.

It was wrong of you to tell me "whenever my little heart desires", because my little heart's been crumbled into pieces.

Where's home? Between the pigeons and the crumbs, and no living soul now bothers to haunt the little places my feet ask me wander, all alone but the memory fluttering among the shuttered doors like yesterday's paper

and the doves

But flowers bloom in desolate places.