From Yesterday

Yesterday was glorious. Sun, music. One guitar. Friends. Singing.
<3
POET in the JAR

A Raven And The World

I decided on my next tattoo. It spoke to me. Out of nowhere, just sprung up from nothing, and I just drew it in and knew... that's the one. A lot of redrawing of it still remains, and a certain symbol in it is to be traded for another, but in all, I know. Not long from now, my arm will hold a raven with a cross, and it's going to mean the world.
POET in the BLOODY JAR

Old Fool

Soundtrack: Wasteland (live acoustic) - 10 years

Why am I so scared? When I get this close to something real, to something that would hold. I paint scenarios in my head, where everything good will crash down on me, where nothing ever lasts. I'm afraid that I'll end up lonely, even more afraid that I'll find myself caught; even if I had chosen to be myself. I get anxious when people meet, fall, marry, give birth... every day that passes reminds me of the cycles in life, that we all just go through certain stages before we are supposedly entering the time to die.

You shouldn't listen to me. You shouldn't read this. I might sometimes be of the belief that I am alone in this glass jar, the only one in the world to see things clearly; that everything fades; but it's a lie. It's an intricate lie that has weaved itself all over my life, but that shouldn't affect you; don't let it affect you. All I have is empty words, words I try to bring meaning, but that only carries what I tell them to, what I imagine that they do.

Don't listen to me. I tell myself this is the truth. Because this is the truth that I live with, this is what I am told by the voices in my head, the voices in my mind. But it doesn't apply to you, please, don't listen...

I'm just an old fool ranting about burdens and worries, ranting forever in gloomy words, without ever being happy. I wonder if I am meant to be happy. It's like every time I have the chance to be, I mess it up for myself, or it is messed up for me... and I know half the issue is in my own fucking head, and I can't fucking help it.

Hell knows I tried.
POET in the GLASS JAR

Imagination As Fuel?

I think that's what makes us writers. Some kind of weird mixture between paranoia, darkness and mystery, and a hell lot of imagination. Our problem, see? We live everything out to the point that we believe it gets real. We play games every day in our heads. Because we imagine things sprouting to life around us. Be that monsters, feelings, sentences. Anything.
And it fuels us to go down and write.
Isn't it funny?
I guess it's good cause it gets the creativity out. Ha, ha.
POET in the GLASS JAR

Stranded

Hold on
I'm weaker than you
Why am I here?
You cut off the rope
I'm an outcast
At last

Who told you I wanted to be stranded
Who told you I wanted to sail
I can't see myself rowing back
I lost my course and my trail

Hold on
I'm weaker than you
Why are you here?
I cut off the rope
You're an outcast
At last

I led you on to leaving me here
I should never have pushed you that far
I know you didn't want to walk
You didn't want to wander with me

Hold on
You're weaker than me
Why are you here?
I cut off the rope
I'm an outcast
At last

I left you a note in a bottle
and swept it away in the sea
But the note I slipped you was empty
It only held value to me
Don't open the glass bottle
Unless you know what you'll see
Forever I'll be the outcast
Forever I'm lonely and free

Hold on
I'm weaker than you
Why am I here?
You cut off the rope
I'm an outcast
At last

You'll never see me
Will you?

Not Even Nostalgia

You could tell me to die away from here
You could ask me to fade
To do you a favor
To your name

Det fläckar ditt rykte att ha känt mig

I tell myself I don't listen to your words
And that accusations mean nothing
I can stab myself in the back
So that you won't get stained

So you'll dry from my bloody rain

Det tynger ditt hjärta att veta om mig

You could do us all a favor
And get rid of me as it is
I'm no longer of any use to you
I'm not even nostalgia
like I used to

This is what it comes down to

Du skulle dö av att ha ihjäl mig

Just maybe I could bring you down when I fall
And just maybe find out
were you worth it, at all?
See if I didn't go willingly
You'd never get hold of me

Jag vet att vi kommer att dö tillsammans
Men det är bättre än att leva
utan dig

________________________________

I know many of you aren't language interested at all, and I definitely don't know why the hell half this thing just came out in Swedish, so I thought if I'm gonna publish the thing, I'm gonna have to roughly translate those lines for you. Pay attention now, ladies and gents!

First line:
"Det fläckar ditt rykte att ha känt mig"
= "It stains your reputation, to have known me"

Second line:
"Det tynger ditt hjärta att veta om mig"
= "It weighs your heart down to know about me"

Third line:
"Du skulle dö av att ha ihjäl mig"
= "You would die from killing me"

Things are getting really exciting!

Fourth, and the final lines:
"Jag vet att vi kommer att dö tillsammans
Men det är bättre än att leva
utan dig"
= "I know we're going to die together
But it's better than living
without you"

Yeah, something like that, anyway. Hope that made the poem make any more sense to you. I will try not to blurt out hybrids like this one in the future. But you never know...
POET in the BLOODY JAR

Floods & Rains

You say I don't tell you anything
That I'm the quiet kind
Whenever I don't reveal every detail,
etched on my mind
I say you've got to ask me the questions,
I'm not telepathic,
ask me what you want to know
Maybe if you ever told me you were curious
Maybe if you ever showed some interest
Maybe if sometimes you cared
It'd be easier to tell you my pains
Tell you of my floods and rains
But now you never ask the questions,
And I never tell you a thing
This thing is supposed to run both ways
After all I'm someone you should know
I'm your daughter
And you should be seeing me
You should see me at all

Picking Up Pieces

Now I'm there. After the longest and darkest time. I'm right here, where you once stood, when you were ahead of me, when you judged what was best. And by then I was dumbstruck. By then I didn't understand you. By then I was the one to believe I had gotten crushed by you, the one who had been left in the blue, once more to be trampled on... I looked everywhere for something I done wrong, for something I had done to make you be drifting on your way. Maybe I looked too hard. Maybe you can't really say any of us did anything wrong. And we didn't either, did we? All that disappeared were promises, promises so empty that they dissolved already when we spoke them, all that I lost was my ability to believe in words.
Someone else took the place I stepped away from, with time. Someone else stands there now, wounded and torn, confused, looking for what went wrong, looking for what could have been different. And I took over the place you used to hover. Where you looked back over your shoulder at me, crumbling, falling to pieces. And there's a part of you still left here, a part of the role you took on to play that I never got to see, that you never let show.
I close my eyes, breathe it in. Think.
When you left me, I broke. I was blank. I made theories in my mind. I made up stories. It was easier to fill my head up than to just stop and feel the emptiness. The blank space, after you. And in the end... I settled for one theory, seeming more likely than any other would, at least then, at least at the time.
I told myself you left me here because I'd fallen for you. Because you knew how hard I would hit the ground, and you weren't going to be around to pick up the pieces when I did.
But now... just now... just here, where there's a piece of you still around, I wonder to myself. I wonder over another theory. Something that seems completely obvious from this new point of view, but something I didn't even ponder in the days, back where it all seemed so difficult, when I was still in shock.
Maybe that wasn't the reason. Maybe, the real reason you left was because you'd fallen yourself, and you knew you wouldn't be around to pick yourself up when you did.
And I only wandered here afterwards, finding a small piece.
I don't know why I find comfort in this thought. It should make me even more crushed, knowing you don't feel anything anymore, knowing you left me cause I reminded you of what couldn't be. Knowing... you're over me by now. Or you wouldn't be speaking to me, again.
The recurring feeling just makes me think, and think, and think. I'm standing where you used to stand, someone else is crawling where I used to crawl. Someone who will sooner or later get up on his knees, and stand, too. Maybe you went on to running. Maybe it'll end with you soaring. And then I'll take over your running, and then in the end, we'll both have wings again, even if it's not at the same time, or in the same sky, or even in the same... universe.
I doubt any of my theories are right. I doubt any of my feelings make up for what can't be set straight by my thoughts. But I feel them anyway.
I ponder, anyway.
FJAERIL in the JAR

Paranoia, Naivete & Dead Animals On The Road

I'm tired, a tad hungover, and paranoid, all seeming to be my normal state of mind. State of heart. Twice, maybe three times this morning I was again close to driving off the road alternatively hitting cars in the meeting traffic. Seemed like alarmingly often I happened to cross over to the wrong lane. Had to mentally slap myself and get back to focus on the road. I seriously believe my license should be taken from me; there is a danger in letting unfocused daydreamers drive around in high traffic, where you need all the focus you can get. My blurred head seems to get to me wherever I am, whatever I'm doing. I drift off, the world disappears, I'm in my dream world again.
I thought the other day, it's so much easier that way. Living in a universe you create for yourself, where you see what you want to see, where you can be what you want to be. There you can ignore the job you go to every day and that you hate, the exams you're avoiding, the heart breaks, the memories. And you choose what memories to reside in, what to dwell in. Some good ones, to love and embrace. But most of them are bad.
And why do you do it? Keep dwelling in a fantasy world where the memories you've selected for yourself aren't even fuel to keep you going in real life? I don't know, maybe I'm just too much of a dreamer, maybe too much of an artist. I know I think too much, and that it's half of my problem, half of what keeps me in this weirded out mood. Sis wanted me to go on antidepressants. I'm dead scared it'll leave me feeling nothing, without emotion, being just an empty shell. It's maybe an irrational fear but I just don't see how my solution lies in pills. In the end all medication does is ease the symptoms of the problem, not removing the cause of it.
Mum told me to misbehave instead. I'm doing a wonderful job. People should hire me for doing it really. Hell, wish I could make my living doing all those things that I already do, writing, creating, anything. Cause I'm already doing it, pay or no pay.
But I guess that's a dream and a fantasy too.

I'm tired of seeing things that aren't there. I imagine there are monsters on the road. I see them there. They're all dead, and shouldn't really be intimidating since they're just bodies, but every time they appear, they disappear again in the next second. Half the reason why I can't stay focused with my eyes on the bloody road is that I'm looking at the bloody, fucking monsters. What else can I call them? They're monsters of my mind, of my head, they aren't real, they aren't there.

I remember when watching Donnie Darko, the shrink says about him that he experiences day time hallucinations, and that it's common for people with schizophrenia. Hah. Maybe that would explain half the bit? Or maybe I'm just plain fucked up, cause I'm a writer.

I said to someone the other day they shouldn't want to stray near me. I'm an alcoholic wreck, who loves to misbehave in life, who see stuff that aren't there, I'm a mess. I constantly make bad decisions, make bad judgments, believe in the wrong people, fall for the wrong words. I'm glad that I seemingly have lost a few of my biggest sins, but there are still enough of them hovering around to weigh guiltily on my shoulders. I drink. I don't really want to, but I do. There's always a good excuse to have a beer, or a shot, or a cocktail. It's weekend, it's someone's birthday, there's a good show on TV, there's a long night of studying ahead... Anything is good enough a reason. Drinking keeps me away from the bad mood, temporarily, that is until paranoia and anxiety strikes, in the middle of the night, and I can't sleep. I'm insomniac.

I have more sins. I'm nowhere near a flawless person. I eat sugar. I feed on sugar. Without my daily dose of chocolate I don't function. I don't eat properly. I order takeout, maybe cook once a week. I sleep with my contacts still in my eyes. I stay up to 3 AM in the night time, just because it's more calming to be awake then than in the day. I sleep away every free day I should study on. I skip exams. I rather see friends than do anything even near household chores. I'm lazy. I dose myself with zombie movies and silly killing games. I skip breakfast. I pretend to smile, pretend to care. I complain about my money situation, try to save some, end up buying new hair dye instead. I talk too much when I'm nervous. I got tics in my left eye when I'm tired, and I constantly am tired, since I never sleep the way I should. I have voices in my head. I'm constantly depressed, except for when I'm in the sun, doing nothing. I got a busted knee after my dad that aches whenever I stand up for more than 2 minutes. I'm always late, everywhere I go, cause I just need to hear that song one more time... I take long meaningless drives without a purpose when I get restless, and I'm always restless. Restless but lazy! I listen to people that I shouldn't trust. Probably my biggest sin of all is when I insist to give people second chances, insist they can change, that bad things won't happen again.

My naivete is my biggest sin, and my biggest treasure.
ALL FOR NOW, says
The POET in the JAR

Duplicate Key (Audio Video)

Okay peeps, so here's another attempt to sing you a bit. For those of you who have said my songs don't always have an upright structure, I'm hoping this will alter your opinions. It's slightly drunk and I still got a cold but I find it an at least decent sample of my singing. Otherwise, I blame everything on Al who okeyed it for publishing.
Enjoy,
POET in the JAR

PS. The lyrics have been previously posted as you probably already know and have read. DS.

Misbehavior,Theatres & Hunches

Mum adviced me to misbehave myself. To listen to that mental wall that seems to have placed itself in my head, and take the hint. Ignore everything, get drunk with friends, be in the sun, stay up late, do whatever. Misbehave. I think that's not only the best advice anyone ever gave me, especially coming from my Mum; I also think I am more good at it than I would ever want to consciously admit.

I'm thinking a lot these days. Merely half the ponders come out of my head, dressed in rhymes and rhythm in songs and poems, dressed in ink when I draw. The rest is still in here, stirring, whirling around. And I came to realize something. For every time we ourselves have been deeply wounded by someone, we ourselves, in our turn, have deeply wounded someone else, accidentally or non-accidentally. Ain't that it? It's all not much but a circle, going round, round; and in the end... life is just a big theatre, love is a play set there, and during all the different acts, we play every different role of the cast.

Call it that we grow. Call it that we evolve. Maybe that we make some bad decisions, maybe that some decisions seem to be made for us, without us being able to affect it. Sometimes when we can't help it. Like someone close to me recently said, "Believe me, I don't want to feel this way". Do we ever? Aren't we always trying to win over our emotions by being rational, by trying to block things out, by trying to prove we don't care... even if we do get wounded. Even if we do hurt.

Sis said she'd teach me how to be ice cold. But if I was ice cold, it wouldn't be me. I can't help it that I'm an artist's soul. That even if there never was a promise, I still react when the bubble bursts, the bubble that I built myself in my head. Because I imagine. I take things out in advance, and imagine I know what's going to happen. And I don't. Not when I'm picturing it consciously. Only my hunches are right, and hell knows I should have learnt to listen to my hunches a long time ago.

Why is it so difficult? Just... if you have a hunch you shouldn't go somewhere, then don't? But I go anyway, convincing myself it's just a mental ghost trying to haunt me, trying to make things weirded out. The voices in my head. But almost always, when I get there, something happens, and I see the reason I had that hunch, I see the reason why I should have stayed away. And not let myself be hurt, not let myself be torn.

I've got a hunch this once as well, and I'm following it. I'm gonna start following what my guts tell me to. And even if it's one of my best friends. I just can't face that. Cause... it's a subconscious hunch. It's not a scenario that I wanted to happen, that I wanted to come true. I know what will happen if I go, because it flashed me by, and there's no use putting myself out there when I already glanced it by, already recognize it.

Dear Jess, we'll be making most of our weekend anyway in protest.
SWEETED POET in the JAR
Ps. Off to avoid an exam. Ds.

Duplicate Key (You're Preaching Again)

You're preaching again
Of a world you imagine
Where all things go
by rules that you set
Where all things tick by the clock

I don't know what I believe in
I just know what I feel
Does that make me anymore real
than you?

You're preaching again
Here comes another advice
You never set foot here
Or wore my shoes, yet
You can't duplicate keys for this lock

I don't know what I believe in
I just know what I feel
Does that make me anymore real
than you?

You're preaching again
Stop the lecture, just listen
I just need your time
And not your ideals
Just imagine for once
that you know how it feels

I don't know what I believe in
I just know what I feel
Does that make me anymore real
than you?

Wherever You Kick Out Your Trash

I've tried to be like you
To shield me off without feeling
Being cold, so that I'll live
It would help me live through it all

I've tried to go at it your way
Push emotion in front of me,
for a distant day
But I can't

You're gonna have to take me for what I am
Realize that I react to things
Even if I can't explain it
Even if I shouldn't

Discard me out your window,
wherever you kick out your trash

Just don't expect me to be thrilled about it

Tears & Cries

I'm too broken to write you
Too torn to play another song
I'm tired now from driving
I drove home again alone

I'm nowhere near my lie
All I have is tears and cries
At least I'm no longer apathic

but I'm empty

I'm too shook up to hear you
Not sure if I want another word
But I want another smoke with you
Another endless hug

I'm nowhere near my lie
All I have is tears and cries
At least I'm no longer apathic

but I'm empty

Just let me know
if I should bother fighting

Bad Habits And Blueprints

Here goes another bad habit,
another skin cell,
peeled off my lips
Who wants to caress someone broken
Someone with a broken heart

Here goes another bad habit,
it's how I lie
with my bleeding smile
Who believes my words aren't broken
My words are just a poet's tries

Here goes another bad habit,
another done-with-it,
another should-quit
Who wants to hold a failing promise
A promise that falters and dies

Here goes another blueprint,
another ideal
beckoning me
Who wants a broken copy
Who wants the broken me

I'm tired of pretending
And of this tired, cracking shell
I can see why you won't look at me

And there goes another skin cell

Moment 22

Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22

I imagined I won the fight with you
Whatever game or contest it really was
An argument, in the emptiness
Waiting for you to say the first word
Even if it was meaningless

Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22

I dreamed I had a life with you
Whatever illusion that really was
A shiver, in the darkness
Waiting for you to retrieve me
Even if I couldn't be revived

Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22

I know I glorify you
Whatever we might have shared
A single wish, in nothingness
Both our souls broken and torn
Was it meaningless?

Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22

But I'll cling to my jaded thoughts
If they're all I have of you
They were all I ever knew

Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22

caused by you

Secret Of Me

I had to change my name again
My old one reminded of you
I got my old hair color,
staying the same
Though I wanted another dye
I wanted another try

It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me

Pressed shuffle on my music list
My old songs reminded of you
I got my old favorites,
staying the same
Though I wanted a new style
I wanted a new life

It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me

No one recognizes me anymore
And all awhile I never changed
True that I am the chameleon
But the skin that peels away
is the same

And another bunch of letters
is still my name

It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me

I can't identify with you
But I don't know who I am either
I got my old memories,
staying the same
Though I wanted other photos
I wanted other frames

It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me

Lonely Song Of You (Audio Video)

Okay peeps, this is what I got for now. Finally got around to doing a recording of this song, which has been ringing in my head for days now, and I really needed it out! Please excuse my somewhat sore throat and that I am not entirely up to pace throughout it (this is indeed, a very tired video). I thought at first to redo it but figured I'd probably never get around to that either.

Thanks for tuning in on me again,
POET in the GLASS JAR

Hourglass

Still sore from my bleeding eyes
Staring at this emptiness
At this nothing
I wish I had inner eyelids
to shield me with

It's overwhelming

They say love blinds you
And it's true
Afterwards

No first aid kit in my sight
I'd need another patch-up, please
Cold wounds
I wish I had someone here
to shield me

You're overwhelming

They say love blinds you
And it's true
Afterwards

The emptiness you left me with
Is here, around my every wall

They say hearts blind you
And they do
Afterwards

I'd rather hope for your passion again
Than knowing it's gone
I'm nothing but an hour glass
And time ticking on

They say love blinds you
And it's true
Afterwards

Millisecond

I don't want to die. Actually, I'm scared of anything having to do with it. Even the five letter word itself. D, E, A, T, H. Just normal letters until they're grouped together, until they actually mean something. A memory, an empty space. Something that wasn't usually here. Something that used to be here, that has gone.
Maybe I'm just morbid. Maybe I watched too much of Tim Burton's, looked too many times at gothic girls, dreamt one too many nightmares. Maybe it's the writer's vein in me, pouring open at any given moment, subconsciously. And maybe I shouldn't be giving it the attention it craves for. Maybe if I ignored it it'd go away.
I keep imagining that I die. I picture who will go to my funeral. Who will find me. If it's an accident or not. Just the way I'd look when I left here. What my last thought would be. If I'd be alone. If I would be the only one to go. If there's anyone who would freeze and be totally stuck in their own lives without me. How it'd look if everyone comforted eachother.
Since my car was off the road a while ago, at least one compulsive little behavior of me has come to a stop. I know what it's like to drive off, how it sounds like, what goes through your head, how god damn scared you are, like a chill, placing a firm hand over your heart, in a manner of seconds. And it goes so fast, you never know what's coming, you never know what hit you. All you do is get scared
(Just a millisecond's thought of you.)
and then you've lost control. And you thought of letting go a thousand times before, you thought of letting that old steering wheel just spin, take you wherever it might, left, right, death, fright... and still when I was finally there, I panicked, it was too early. And I realized I couldn't do anything. I was already spinning out of control, and I hadn't gotten to decide it, hadn't gotten to choose it myself.
I don't want to die.
Can't I just let go of this?
Haven't had these dreams and imageries for a very, very long time.
FJAERIL in the POETIC JAR

Grow Our Thorns Elsewhere

Who will be the flower
clinging around your skull?
Thousands of thorns,
and they're stinging you
And I'll only ever be
Poisonous ivy

I'm more of the eight ball,
cryptical as hell
Everything you could guess
And a blind man could tell
But you don't need my advice
You live your life well

I have to grow my thorns elsewhere

Who will be the flower
clinging around your skull?
Thousands of thorns,
and they're stinging you
And I'll only ever be
Poisonous ivy

I'm more of a phone call,
on a noisy line
You would already know
what's on my mind
You're searching for reasons
I'm undefined

You have to grow your thorns elsewhere

Who will be the flower
clinging around your skull?
Thousands of thorns,
and they're stinging you
And I'll only ever be
Poisonous ivy

Better we stay this way
You're the skull and I'm the snake
None of us beautifully sleeping

None of us awake

We have to grow our thorns elsewhere

________________________________

I wrote this song inspired by a tattoo draft my sis found, as you might have guessed one of old school type. Almost all old school things came into these lyrics, except maybe an Ace of spades, Satan or a sailor girl? Either way this is the result, meant to be read metaphorically. But you most likely got that already. Somehow this one really seems to have a special meaning to me.
I'll be doing an audio video of my last posted song during the week, stay tuned for it.
FJAERIL in the JAR

Not Even With My Car Keys In My Pocket

At first you were my companion
Taking me through all my times
Good times and the bad ones
Then you left for bigger things
And grew small instead
Half of you faded,
I was dead
I've got you close here again
Living the way we should
Even if this is far from what we wanted
or what we could
I've got you back, sister
I don't want to lose you again
Why can't we look in eachother's eyes?
Why can't we understand?
We whisper screaming past eachother
Convinced the other one never bothers
I took my jacket and ran out of this door
Out of this place

realizing

I had nowhere to go
Not even with my car keys, in my pocket

And you ran after me
And we cried

Both of our lives are dying
But hell knows we never stopped trying

Every Knot

Again I spilled all my heart to you
All of the darkness, all of the pieces
Everything that makes me

I see

Again I told you everything
Every knot that tied my throat
Everything that weighed on me

Ouch

Nothing holds any meaning to you
Nothing I say matters
All you want is what you find in my looks
In my voice

I'm not what you're looking for

I see

The only thing you'll ever reply
And I'll have spilt my heart out for you

for nothing

Lonely Song Of You

And so I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well

Our melody has died away from here
long ago, it's been a long while
And our memory is dying too
long ago, it has taken time

And so I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well

I fought for you, I fought over you
Trying to keep a grain of sanity
And nothing seemed to make sense
I lost most things in the storm
And it has taken time

So I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well

What did I ask of you?
What did you take from me?
I was robbed of a feeling that used to be my own
What were we, really?
It was insanity
And I cannot retrace my steps
if they'll lead me to you

And so I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well

This lonely song of you
that you will never hear
___________________________

A recording of this song will be up shortly.
FJAERIL in the JAR

Racing Heart, Obstructed Lung

What do I do with this racing heart?
With this obstructed lung?
With this breath I can't control
With you

Always I'll try forgetting you
Try not to stay another second
in your arms

The only place
safe

I just want to be myself around you
To laugh like in the golden days
When we'd say the same things
At the same time

and joke it away

But I'm different
You made me change
And I lost myself around you

What do I do with this shivering voice?
Suddenly I can't even sing around you
Every time my voice breaks

With the pace of my racing heart
The clutter of my obstructed lung
This breath I can't control
With you

My voice breaks
around you

Beautiful Scar

I wish I was still angry with you
That I'd still want to throw my words
and my rocks
I'd want to make you perish

The way I disappeared
long ago

I wish I could do something
But I'm mesmerized, again
You cast that rope out and pull me in

I wish you never whispered to me
That all the screaming had died out

I wish I could wish for other things
Maybe that I'd never ran into you
Maybe that some of the pain gone away

But then I wouldn't have had this beautiful scar

Where you rubbed your salt in
And made me disappear

long ago

Emergency Flare

I'm stranded here
Last emergency flare gone out
Last sparks of green on that veil
of sky

I have signalled in the dark for you
You've been blinded by the stars
And I was blinded by assuming
I knew who you were

These sails were set long ago
There's been no wind in them for long
I don't know what to do with this sudden draft

There is no image here of you
No faltering photograph to hold on to
I owe nothing to your memory

You owe everything, to me