Friday, January 30, 2009

This is where I'll be.

Off to the land of drunken fools where everyone is not yet my friend.
I'll cross my fingers for another sing-a-long in a old dive bar.
With a woman with a deep voice and a man with a pock marked face.
The bartender, a lady who smokes to much.
She gains youth through watching youth.
A jukebox of my childhood.
My heaven, under a smoke stained roof.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Just Hold

She has rats in her hair and smells like poison.
Like blood and fire and too many tears.

Her eyes, so dull, they hold no passion.
Only look on to no hope and all fears.

Her skin is pale but etched by emotion.
The only way she knows to escape the hell.

Her mouth is twisted like it’s never smiled.
Small, lips stitched to the face of a doll.

Her body, so small, it lacks all substance.
Just like a bird, so brittle, so frail.

Her hands, they clench, afraid to let go.
Her grip, so tight, everything shatters.

She keeps quiet, but her pain it is so loud.
How is it no one can hear her?

Just hold her, please hold her.
Tell her it’s ok to be scared.
Just hold her, please hold her.
Show her the scars you bare.
Just hold her, please hold her.
She may not know you care.