often I feel be the numen of my window

get me a stage and burn me at stake

but wait, can I tear myself apart

one last time, you arrive, in your flesh and bones

still looking the same to me

I take a walk with you to the end of the road

in the garden of words and flowers of rhythm 

get on this rollercoaster, a journey of a lifetime

but the ashes and raindrops still look the same

sorrow looks in my eye and laughs

a mean laugh

sorrow takes over my mind

like an easy target

suddenly I don't remember you

I sit alone,

inanimate, yet bold;

ankle-deep in agony

suddenly

I don't remember you

but I still write about you

about your holy love

if I am a museum 

you are the Corinthian columns 

you are the artwork

and the great silence

the gentle whisper

suddenly

I don't remember you.

the girl in the white dress 

looks at me

 and I die a little 

she plays with her fingers 

tapping on mine. 

if I knew music 

I would've taken down the notes 

the girl in the white dress 

looks as clean as blood 

on my face when I cry 

she dances around like 

it's my funeral in her mind 

I wait for her, exhausted 

weary, out of breath. 

the girl in the white dress 

ruins my world 

and I'm standing afar 

watching it burn happily, 

in the hands of her

now take me home 

to the end of the world.

of poets and paradise

there is a window in your eyes 

where I am locked up 

bathing in the gentle flow of the tears 

every night when silence takes over 

I hear you calling out my name 

I hear the words you don't utter 

and the songs that you don't play 

you touch me like you are turning a page 

of the book laid out, chapters of shame and fear 

and I will adore you still, till death takes over 

i stand in the cold 

reading the autumn's ode 

another spiteful day passes away 

and we talk 

our incredibly intellectually stimulating conversations 

your Alex Turner-esque face 

the fucking gluten-intake

the insignificant yet somehow intense moments 

of today 

and yesterday 

and tomorrow.

the night i fell like rain on your face

we had a house of the giggling crying, and the shouting lot

the coarse cuss and voices following our footsteps, 

strolling through the high, droplets on your face. 

why do you keep asking me to slow down my pace? 

the tether, the feather, and the familiar faces of a couple hundred 

could not stop me from defying the gravity in my mind. 

we lie, soaked in thoughts and the deal of the day 

ask your dreary questions, but I beg you to pave the way. 

you put our arms above your head, the air sighs out loud 

and I feel myself vaporize away, under your drowsy breath. 

there was something about that night I fell like rain 

onto your lap, the night I saw my sanity get slain. 

I put half of myself on the platter, served with ice and tonic, 

and you, lying on the shelf, gave me your most certain dubious look, 

your stoic smile piercing through the end in an unexpected wave. 

how can I ignore your gentle eyes who beg me not to behave? 

three twenty-nine lines of a lover's complaint cannot undo my grief 

nor the fingertips wandering on my skin, all through the ride. 

give me a stage, and I will give you a hundred poems to your name. 

but in the meantime, just hand me some antiseptic for the maim. 

the rain is a vagrant who stops for a moment on your face, adoring; 

yet another cigarette, exhausting ages in a matter of a minute. 

there was something about that night I fell like rain, 

your wandering hand on my chest and the drugs in my brain. 

It's the artifice of the hour, so temporary, like you and me 

waiting for you, and the tree of fruits and green and branches. 

hot wet blood on my face, yours adorned with the warm calm rain 

I know when you leave, I'll be left graceless, sick, and insane. 

the preliminary kisses and cream, all the shine all the rust 

that's gathered on the inside, tell me all the things you wanna do. 

all solemn and sincere, we lie on the table and make things up 

focused on fiction, we surrender to the grief that's stored in the cup. 

now it's been a year or two, maybe three; let's say four, for sure 

the temper like a permanent scar around my neck couldn't explain 

exactly what it was about the night I fell like rain 

i swear I'll jump off as soon as i see the moon wain