Our Twilight Pastime

Alarm
Satellites (A Short Drag)
Buried Away
Acrobat
Directions
1 x 1
An Ode to Docked Ships and Impossible Voyages
Senescence
Bird & Moon
Hang Up the Phone
The Way Back (A Forecastle Song)
Let’s Go Exploring!

Alarm

Up a little past dawn
no more sleep.
Our eyes still heavy, but
we’re not alone.
We’re not alone.

As we’re driving to work
the proof’s on the highway:
the traffic’s screaming out
“we’re not alone;
no, we’re not alone.”

And every brake-signal’s a symbol
that comes crashing down on our dreams:
we’re not going anywhere
but we’ve taken to the streets
to try to give our lives meaning.

And everything I’ve learned
I’ve learned from the horizon:
he stumbles, he tries to stay bright,
but he always falls–
and I follow suit.

But tonight I’ve got some people
who will make things better.
When I’m with them I see like the sun
for just a short time–
with my eyes shining bright.

But tomorrow it all starts again,
when we’re back to our day-to-day lives.
But life’s just a temporal moment,
so let’s make it worthwhile.

And some see their careers shining
like a medal they put on display,
but don’t worry if you don’t fit in with them,
I think I feel the same.

Because it’s our time spent
that means anything to me.
And I don’t care
if I die and don’t leave a legacy.

As long as I got to enjoy this
wonderful life you all help me lead.
So let’s shut the door on Hubris tonight.
Let’s just smile and sing.

Satellites (A Short Drag)

You told me in confidence
like it were a conspiracy
that the clock has got you chained down,

and you stay up late anyway–
defiantly
standing your ground.

You examine your coffee.
You use it like a shield:
to protect you from the violent blows

that come with over-exhaustion,
that come with a job you despise,
that come with an alarm, like a bad friend–
who, when you need him the most,
is never on your side.

And we sit here thinking,
“with all these years,
with all these protest songs,
there’s got to be a better way.”

But at least we’re working for something:
at least some inspiration
that we scribble on the page

before our imagination runs dry
like the ink in these ballpoint pens.

And we try to find a metaphor,
or just write it straight like it is.
We just need a fucking outlet.
We can’t keep it pent up like this,
no, we can’t keep it pent up like this.

Because, sometimes,
we get so caught up in the world
we can’t find
our way out of this dirge.
Surrounded by gray clouds,
we’re letting the monotony take us down.

But we’ve just got
to try our damn best
to shine bright enough to lead us home again.
And we can sing out loud,
like drunken sailors shouting proud:
we’ve always got our sea-legs
and we’re not gonna fall down.

Sometimes our diplomas feel like
just decoration on some white wall.
And if you don’t got one
they say “you’re useless.”

But don’t ever listen to that.
Don’t ever fucking listen to that.

Because if you find
love for these little things
in your life,
you’re beating most, it seems.
They just work themselves to death,
and buy pretty toys
they can stuff in their casket.

But we’ve just got to try our damn best
to shine bright enough to lead us home again.
And we can sing out loud,
like drunken sailors
shouting proud:
we’ve always got our sea-legs
and we’re not gonna fall down.
And even if we never find solid-ground,
we’ve got our sea-legs
and we’re never, ever, ever gonna fall down.

Buried Away

Winter’s keeping her secrets safe:
locked up in those deadened trees
whose branches don’t dare to sway.
They just reach down towards the ground
and scrawl a note to the dying day.
Saying: “kid,
you could learn a lot from me.

Keep it buried away.
Lock it so far inside
it’ll never see the light of day.
Buried away.”

And you can try to write.
Make your notebook your mirror
till you see yourself between the lines.
Then, take all that ink
that you kept tattooed inside,
and give it to the Winter
so she’ll keep it with her
cold, cold, cold, cold night.

Keep it buried away.
Lock it in your labyrinth-heart
so they will never find their way.
Buried away.

Acrobat

When I try to sing
there’s this lump stuck in my throat
from swallowing
the day too hard.

I can’t bring it back up;
sometimes I feel it’ll never go away–
like I just can’t
live with it.

well, Chris once told me
“we’ll always want more,
but as long as we can be
happy with what we’ve got
it’s fine.”

And I’d love to live
believing him this time,
because he’s just so right.

So I’m training myself
to not take this for granted again.
I’ll be an acrobat,
’cause this time I may not have a net;
and if I fall, imagine just
the cold concrete instead.
The cold concrete instead.

So I’m trying real hard
not to worry myself sick,
wind up spending all
these days in bed.

And I know it’s you all
that’ll pull me through–
’cause spring’s here now,
so i feel like,

well, it’s gotta mean something to me
in this chain of events:
’cause your smile’s got my mind set on
being free.

Like a hacksaw cutting through these days.
And, I think that’s all I need.

So I’m training myself
to not take this for granted again.
I’ll be an acrobat.
And this time I may not have a net,
so if i fall, imagine just
the cold concrete instead.
The cold concrete instead.

Directions

There’s construction up ahead
that’s stopping us
from going any further with this.

We’re repaving our lives,
we’re fixing what potholes we see
that we’ve gotten over time.

We’re both taking a detour
and getting the hell out of here.

But as I’m sitting in this traffic
of these past few months,
you probably don’t know
I’ve been thinking about this–
about you;
about placing my hands, like directions, into yours,
and asking “where should we go?”

1 x 1

Cataclysmic words we have spoken,
well, they have broken our electricity.
And now we walk in the dark all alone,
no topic in our minds,
visibly irate.
Well, I know,
without a “you” we’ve got nothing to show.

And tomorrow’s just a feeling inside
that it might come and take apart our night,
and still put no one by our side.
We’re one times one tonight.

We’re wonderful.

We’re irate, we know,
with no one to show.
We’re irate, we know,
without a “you” to show.

An Ode to Docked Ships and Impossible Voyages

Oh, my ship in a bottle
how I’m glad you are here.
Landlocked as I’ve been
you give me hope.

And I can see right through
what is holding you back
from setting sail with me.

Is that true?
Or is it only me

who is sea-eager all the time?
Thinking of you as my satellite?
Oh, I could swear
I saw the same thing
in your eyes

when you leaned back in your chair,
looked into me with a tired stare
that seemed to say,
“some nights I wish
that you could take me anywhere,
so just find a way
to get me out to sea.”

Oh, my ship in a bottle
I’m giving up cartography.
I’m making maps, but I know you’ll never take me.

So, my ship in a bottle,
I’ll end this daydream,
and just drift off into the lonely sea.

Senescence

Our senescence parallels an aging road:
splinters and cracks form
with winter’s approach.
And the chill of the night brings forth
a scent of snow–
with the clouds nominating
where the next halo goes.

But this shredded terrain won’t turn me away,
it won’t turn me away.
I’ll walk with torn-up feet
until our last of days.

Bird & Moon

(Based on the lovely comic of the same name by Rosemary Mosco)

Well, baby, I’ve been feeling so alone.
Even as the crowds were swarming me
and the cars went out of their way
to torture me,
I felt like I was
just looking for someone to share this view.
I was frightened when the sun did sink,
and I stared into the sky looking for someone
just like me.

Then that crescent above,
well, it scared the hell out of me
when it came down from its high ascent
to share this lonely world that I’ve
inhabited.
And with just one note, I knew
my whole world was changed.
And I responded in kind as I watched your flight,
and this time I was following
right behind.

And you showed me that there are people out there
just like me:
singing alone in their rooms
just waiting for that person they need.
And whether it was right or wrong,
for a while we shared everything.
And underneath the night sky we were free.

Then you put your arm around me
and closed your eyes;
and in the darkness, I knew it’d be alright.
As the day evaporated the night I
was left
amazed.

Hang Up the Phone

These summer nights can be cathartic now.
You should just spill out your fears–
wipe up your regret with a paper towel
to absorb all that fell this year.

Then you could throw it out
in conversation or into the trash.
I just want to hear you shout out loud
that you’re finally smiling
at last.

Because it’s taken you oh-so-long
while you’re waiting for him to call
to pick you up only to drop you.
Just to drop you.

And I know you know already
what you should just do tonight,
but you’re human
and your mind, heart, and body
all seem to love this fight.

And watching it all unfold
you feel like the protagonist in some play.
But don’t feel bad if your monologue sounds the same
every day.

Because I really don’t mind
listening to any asides
that you think may cleanse your life.
I’m here to listen or remind you,
to listen and remind you

that you deserve
better than this.
Well, you don’t have to put up
with any of his bullshit.

Just kick him out of your heart–
it’s your house,
and he’s broken in.
And now he’s locking all of your ventricles
and stopping anyone
from coming in.

But I’m gonna try to make this song
a battering ram or a locksmith,
’cause he doesn’t know
we’re not gonna give up so easy
on getting in.

No we’re not gonna give up so easy,
no, we’re not gonna give up so easy,
no, we’re not gonna give up so easy
on you.

Well, I’ll hear you out–
you’re not out of your mind.
And we’ll see things through,
’cause when you think your blind
I’m gonna try my best to lead you.

And if I can’t
we’ll just make up some games in the dark,
like we’ll count how many fuck-ups
we thought were sparks,
and how they ignited nothing
but regret.

The Way Back (A Forecastle Song)

“This is something that we picked up,
so it’s something we can shake.
We’ll watch this bounty of our sadness
fall to the earth, like the leaves.

Well it’s autumn now and we’re stuck
getting rid of our sins,
and everything our friends
tell us to drop again.

Maybe it’s a number,
or a name, or that last shot,
or just some vice we use
to forget our state.

And each stranger’s laugh’s just like a crow
picking at what’s dying inside:
those simple pleasures
we tried so hard to keep alive.

So, now, tell me what you are praying for,
and I’ll share mine with you.
‘Cause we both desperately know,
well, it’s gotta come true.
Well we know it’s gotta come true.”

then you said:

“Mike, we’re gonna be alright.
That’s just the alcohol talking,
we’ll be fine in the morning light.
Now, call me after you walk home tonight;
I wanna make sure you got there alright.
I wanna make sure you got there alright.”

Let’s Go Exploring!

I saw your name
in drifts of snow,
the cursive outside my window.

The penmanship
of winter is clean,
and I knew right then where I would be.

I grabbed a scarf,
wrapped it around
my neck before I headed out

to your place–
where I’d ask you then
if you would come be kids again.

And you said, “only if we could run around
making forts and sledding down

any hills we could find
in this town we grew up in.”
“Well, of course” I replied.
It all started making sense:

The world looks brand new–
a fresh clean start,
like a big white sheet
of paper to draw on.

“It’s a magical world,
ol’ buddy” I think.
And we cast off our doubts
shouting “let’s go exploring!”

Title

Well, I’m making predictions
that maybe I’ve got something real this time
‘cause you’re a beautiful song
that’s been hidden too long, and now
you’re always stuck in my mind.

So we could be murderers,
but of course not literally–
there’s just something in your eyes
telling me that you might
like to kill some time with me.

I’d like to say that I proved sleep wrong,
even if it’s only
for just this once,
when I could wake to the dream
of you lying next to me
in the fading autumn sun,

where you’d say:
“I really like spending
this remaining sunlight with you.”
Then I’d nod and agree
because you would have stolen those words from me;

but if you’re a thief,
well, you’re the prettiest damn one
that I have ever seen.
I’m inviting you in
to take anything you’d like
from this broken person that
my friends call Mike.

You’ve already got me staying up late
and draining my ambition dry
with a guitar in my arms,
trying to figure out that song
that I said you sounded like.

But I never really come close,
and I never really expect to–
it’s just gonna die in the haze
of these sunset streets of late
‘cause that’s the best I can do

ever since life gave me just
a margin of hope;
so everything I write just blurs on the page,
but I’m practicing my penmanship
and leaning to write smaller each day

in the hope that I can pen at least one thought
and write it down under your name:
so you’d be come the title of
anything that I’ve got to say
(because to me you’re just a dream waiting to happen anyway).

Quickly to a Smile

A lavender flame
dances on the horizon tonight;
and as her eyes peek through
the rear-view mirror beauty’s fading.

As she drives
she’s asking the clouds to cut in,
but getting the third degree from her skin.
She’s watching her home fade away,
and burning again.

And as she searches the mirror for dreams
she asks: “did I lie to you?
Would you like me to?
And pick a future just to end up
in his broken past?”

Now she’s fading fast:
running so quickly to a smile she thinks is true,
and finding out so soon
she still doesn’t know what she wants from life.

She’s struggling to find a way
to make this all bright,
but she’s engulfed in changing herself
through alcohol and the night sky.

So candles they burn and batteries leak,
and so she’s left in darkened scenes:
fables of far away, and the moon
as her alcoholic dream.

And now we know that this could never work (and it shows).

One of Two Ways

I’ve got these hopes I save
a little at a time,
like change in a bank,
until it feels just right;
then I grab my collection,
come over,
and ask you what I should do.

You say: “a dream
is only conquered one of two ways:
it’s either shattered on the ground,
or safely stored away;
and I can tell
by looking at this one
that this one
has got to die.”

But instead,
I grab my coins and run to the fountain—-
I’m gonna wish
until I’m poor on the streets
for better care than sick room air
for all my dying hopes and dreams.

I’ll show them love,
even though they teased me my whole life
(I’ve gotta push and pull).
I’ll show them love,
even though they teased me my whole life.
I’ve gotta push and pull,
‘cause they’re too beautiful,
this one’s too beautiful,
to let die.

Incandescent

There are metaphors
that drove in the dark–
headlights off the whole way.
They kept the sun inside too long.
Now planes make stains on suits of grey.

But it’s pretty when you tell me
that you like the way it smiles,
and that you wish that for an instant
it could stay a little while;
but the comfort fades
as it starts to rain in the dark now–
we’re in the dark now.

You’re the light that’s incandescent,
the one that keeps me warm.
You’re the light that’s incandescent
amongst fluorescents.

But filament it breaks all too quickly,
and now I’m left with just the sound of our broken bond;
and I never want you as a shadow
because I’ll always remember
how bright you made my room.

And it’s pretty when you tell me
that you like the way I smile,
and that you wish that for an instant
I could stay a little while;
but the comfort fades
as it starts to rain in the dark now–
we’re in the dark now.

Slow Death of Time

“Tonight was great,” you smiled,
and I thought the same.
So I asked: “Can you take me to that lake?
You know, the one that’s right by your house?”
You said: “Sure. Let’s leave right now.”
We walked in patterns, opposing parallels,
when my right foot stepped
your left foot fell
(even when we’re walking next to each other
we’re standing still).

When we got there, there was a man fishing across the way.
He was with his son, and they both looked bored
in their own special way.
I said: “Please don’t ever let me get like that
if I ever have kids.”
You said: “alright,”
so sincere were your eyes, as bold
as this kiss I never could give.
The sunrise seemed as unsure as your hands,
was it waiting for you to take this chance
at locking your fingers tight around me
and throwing away the key?

Sitting down, we were tracking the ascent.
Our shoulders brushed like we
were dusting for prints: so soft, so delicate,
and so tired from the lack of results.
“I don’t got much to offer,” you blurted,
“except a pocket full of watch batteries.”
“Yeah, what’s with that?” I asked with a smile.
You said: “Time, it dies so frequently,
and I want you to know we can move forward.”
I laughed and said I understood.
Time never knows when to accelerate,
but I knew you hoped, just like the spring, I would.

the rebellion of the sun rising against the night,
I asked to walk you home, said we should do this again.
You said: “sure, that’d be nice.”
We stood up, brushed off the sand, and soon enough
we were at your door.
We must have kissed for just a minute,
but each dying second faded more and more.
So if this is the slow death of time,
let’s build a casket for all this alkaline.
The time could always be now in our minds.

Walk Away

I’ve gone to bed with you stuck in my mind
as I drag my fingertips across my pillow,
trying to find a clear sign that you exist;
but I’ve got no proof besides this yellowed list
of all the things that you’ve given to me:
a couple answers, a few “thanks,”
those tricks I thought I saw up your sleeve
while you kept my eyes on your face,
and you talked to me
like I found your favorite place,
and it’s about time since you’ve been to mine
so frequently these days:

it’s that community
that’s buried deep below our skin,
with that place inside that seems so right
for you to rest in;
so I’m praying that you found it the same.

And that’s why you’re on my mind as it drifts away.

I woke up today on Christmas Eve
and all I was thinking about
was how you told me last night to give up
while I was knocked out (it’s a damn good idea,
without a doubt).
It’s easier said than done, I know, unfortunately;
but I think I stand a chance now
for my body to be free:
with all these bad choices I make desperately
trying to get out of this gutter caging me.
But I feel it deep within myself as I’m staring at the street
that the pavement’s just as high as I’ll get,
regardless of where you’ll be.

And I know now that you think the same,
but I still can’t help but smile
as you walk away.

Bartending Eyes

Your bartending eyes are begging me to drink
until I’m drunk,
but I’m leaning off the edge of my seat.
It wouldn’t be wise making me lose my balance now,
unless you want me falling off
of this couch, and straight for you;
so let’s both admit
we love this fucking view, and that
the best we can do now is just to celebrate right.
So grab your guns and fire
into the quiet night
(you better believe now we’re gonna set things right).

We’ll make a rupture with
all our hopes and dreams–
packed with good intentions and TNT.
You’ll be a criminal with that crooked smile,
‘cause I can tell that your heart’s
just so damn volatile and confused;
so let’s make a toast
to all we can keep from this:
a bottle of champagne, our memories and wine,
three fingers of whiskey and ours intertwined.
So sleep tight; don’t worry now,
I think I’ve got it right:

just fall asleep
and we’ll dream side by side,
because Bill Watterson had got it right:
we can play together all night
in our dreams.

Decoration

We’re changing store fronts and windows (it seems)
to decorate for holidays.
I’ll let you make a scene of a bitten tongue
and a forced goodbye, seeming as lifeless
as an old lullaby.

You deserve a reward
for keeping me confused,
but deep in my heart I know you’d refuse.
So let’s cut out our lies like grocery coupons:
save our two cents, and let each other move on.

I’ll be your odd friend, a jester you let loose:
good intentions and a stomach full
of chewed up old truths.
You be the review at the end of this chapter:
reminding me what I forgot,
but still stumble after.

Forming Angels

I’m picking the pieces off the ground
of shattered words and broken sounds;
I’m tired of walking with these bloody footprints.
Your life just always trails behind
the sense of suffering you find
always replaces your good intentions.

We’ve got a thing in common now:
we’re always trying to find out how to make ourselves
look worse to us;
so come with me somewhere between
this sense of loneliness and fading dreams.

So please just remember, in this cruel, cold December,
that even if your heart’s left out in the snow
you’ve got friends among the changes, forming angels
to protect you from the cold.

We never know just what to do
because we always see in blue, getting choked-up
from our bad decisions.
We had a run-in with the nurse,
and taken a turn for the worse; but bandages
just led to our revisions.

And now you know I’ll be right here, Kristen,
nothing to fear. If you need the courage I’ll support you.
Come with me somewhere between
this sense of loneliness and fading dreams.

Comfort

Lately I’ve been feeling like a bad architect
‘cause all my designs just go unnoticed,
but if I could just show you something
that would impress, I’d be so damn lucky.

‘Cause I’m hiding behind the shadow of a year
that helped nothing but loneliness reappear–
and like a childhood monster
it grows bigger with fear.
So I’m ducking beneath the sheets: the only things
that comfort me.
So just wake me when I’m free
from the shackles of this imprisonment,
guarded by a warden screaming “no second chances.”
If someone could just pick this lock
I’d be so content, and I’d go anywhere with them;
I’d go anywhere with them;
I’d go anywhere and

you’d hear me screaming
from the top of my lungs: “I’m finally free.”
I’d turn around and thank
whoever it was who released me;
‘cause my defective heart could give out anytime,
quite literally,
but figuratively I’ve learned it’s too damaged to receive.

So, I’m learning to wish on anything I can catch,
like a cold, a bad temper, or just a promise
that when a good time leaves she’ll always be a good guest
and hug herself straight into my memory.

And I know all of these smiles that I’ve gotten out of life
are just blades in an acre
with so many more in sight; and with
these friends I’ve got, I know I’ll be alright,
but sometimes it just gets to me:
while I’m fighting off sleep,
I’d rather be somewhere where

you’d hear me screaming
from the top of my lungs: “I’m finally free.”
I’d turn around and thank
whoever it was who released me;
‘cause my defective heart could give out anytime,
quite literally,
but figuratively I’ve learned it’s too damaged to receive.

I’ll Miss You

It’s strange the way that grief works:
I keep thinking of your smile.
It seemed so limitless, like you were
making the best of life.
I thought about your Christmas gifts,
and how you always sent them early
and how you taped every ridge
so that they wouldn’t open in the mail.

So when I heard the news
it was like I had never stopped dreaming last night,
’cause it seemed impossible to think
you’d taken your own life.

I remembered not too long ago
you had sent me a birthday card,
and I wanted to read it again after I heard
that you were gone,
so I dug through the clutter
that always builds up on my desk,
and inside you wrote:
“it was great getting to see you at Tony’s wedding,”
and I feel the same.
Then you apologized for the card being a little late,
but please don’t worry, Aunt Joyce,
‘cause this “thank you” is the same.

And underneath your card
I noticed some more mail that I had.
My mom must have put it there,
and I never got around to reading it yet.
It was a credit card bill I was waiting for
and a CD I had ordered;
and it’s like you’re still here:
keeping me responsible with care,
and wrapping your Christmas gifts early
in the last thing that you wrote to me–
under a big fonted “Happy Birthday,”
in cursive, you wrote:
“Love, Aunt Joyce.”

Well here’s that “thank you” that I never got to give
(I’ll miss you, Aunt Joyce).

Small Tribute

I’ve seen a lot of my feet
because I’d carry my head down;
and so many days
I never noticed that the light was around.

I’d get all caught up in the little things,
and they’d build up over time
like a barbed wire fence made up
of all the stupid shit in my mind.

And maybe I can see things clearer now,
or maybe this just one of my moods
I swim into too quickly, and then tally off under “lose.”

I’d like to think that it’s one of the former,
but the latter just sounds more right.
No matter what I think though
I know I’ve still got love in my life–because

I see your smiling faces
and I know you want to help me out.
When the wool’s so thick over my eyes
that I imagine you’re not around,
you burst open any cataract
because you’ve got the darkness figured out,
and you’re singing your wisdom loud:
“don’t worry, we’re here for you
until the sun decides to come out.”

And I’m not saying that I’m special,
or any different from you,
because I know that you have got your problems too.
And my hand’s always extended,
and you can take it anytime you’d like;
or if you’d rather
I could just sit and listen for a while. Because

we’ve just gotta try to make the best
of this world where we’ve been born.
And life’s a sine wave we ride up and down,
never staying in the same mood long.
But with my arms wrapped around your necks
I can play my favorite songs,
and we can all sing along;
and together our hands will keep our hearts strong.

In Static

I know it hasn’t been that long
but it feels like
a hundred years

It’s back to the place I was born
into these darken shells
of nights.

Blasted from some impure force
set out to destroy.

I guess some part of me
always knew
this is where I belong.

La Vérité Silencieuse
Avalanche
untitled

La Vérité Silencieuse

(Take this with you)

On a harsher day,
when the rays just can’t stick
to your pupils
(so they bounce off and hit your shoes),

remember me:
when the lights are dim,
when straining to see
gives you a headache—
and giving up is fitting in
like vessels built in bottles.

Remember us
when towns look like wicker baskets
from 30,000 feet,
weaving in and out.

Take this with you:
a simple slip of paper
which stumbles around
a metaphor
which at the core shouts nothing more
than “I love you.”

The silent truth
we share hearts to.

Avalanche

Somewhere tonight
snow is falling
from atop a mountain,
and ready to crush
all in its path.

It’s the avalanche
tonight.

Rumbling down the slope
like wild animals in a stampede,
it has no remorse—
this snow shall never know
pleasure or pain,
just merely displacement.

The foot
that crushes the powder in the morning
never knows and cares not
from where it came,
where it came.
It’s the avalanche tonight.

“Stabilization” shout the breathers.
Displacement is all it knows.

It’s the avalanche tonight

untitled

Chapter I- The Wilted Rose

“nothing can be more wrong
than for my love to die alone.
I’ll pray by your bedside
each and every night
for we have tried every remedy
yet have cured nothing.

By this day many have given up
Just tossed hope away
and have had enough.
But you my dear,
you continue to survive
combating this illness that devours your insides.

(there lies the hen, that gave its life for you
here lay my hands, that pray for life in you
what else, but what else-
can I possibly do?)

Oh my sweet, I pray that you will be cured
of this evil illness that you are forced to endure/
Oh my wilted Rose, shall you ever blossom again?
for I fear that you have met your end.

please save what little strength is left,
to ease these final breaths.

(I lean over to kiss you,
for your last time in life,
for your first time in death,
and by doing so I transfer the sickness unto myself)”
-Leal Simon {Dawn of November 21, 1349}

Chapter II- The Muted Farewell

“(My flesh feels like the rain with this fever inside
this downpour of pain shows no signs of silver lining,
as my throat drowns in my own liquids of life.
How do I say an eternal goodbye,
In such little time?)

I will always lo-

(why do you silence me, my love?
oh, as you arch over to kiss me farewell,
you resemble the greyest of rainbows.)”
-Rose Simon {Dawn of November 21, 1349}

Chapter III- Bedside Eulogy

The Earth will never miss you,
much like you will never miss it.
Who needs gravity to weigh down their heart?
Certainly not you,
certainly not us.
We will meet again,
and continue what we started here-
endless love that ceases once we decompose,
but death unveils the afterlife-
the infinite honeymoon of our souls.”
-Leal Simon {Dusk of November 21, 1349}

Chapter IV- The Eternal Reunion

“(I wish for this illness to end me shortly
but days do not pass so quickly.
Why must the clock,
demand so much from us?
The dominance of time,
that erodes our lives.

Why must the sun get it’s turn to shine?
when only darkness reigns all through my insides.
Why does the moon get to peek through the clouds?
when I can’t even sit up, let alone walk around.

Yet I can’t help but leave this Earth with a smile,
knowing our reunion will be eternal).”
-Leal Simon {Dusk of November 23, 1349}