I know that there’s a middle ground
But I’ll be damned if I know where
I’m either swallowed by the oceans
Or drowned in too much air

I want to find the place
Where I know I need to be
But I can’t navigate myself
As well as everybody

Still, I want to find my way
Without turning into stone
Because while it hurts to carry everything
It hurts more to be alone.


Oh, you’re such a silly man
Still with all those hopes and plans
Still thinking me unfriendly
Because I haven’t any friends
But I tell you, there are worse things to be
And if someone wanted to be friends with me
Do you think that I would stop them there?
I’m simply loathe to beg and plead
Too quick to think that life’s unfair
That there’s no place for me out there
And if I ever did believe
It would require that someone truly cared.

Living Dead

My heart is hardened — is it beating? —
Is it deaf and dumb and dead?
It only beats when I tell it “no,”
Only speaks when “hush” is said.

It’s only living when in mortal fear,
It only answers between fight or fled;
But does it ever wake or wish or whimper,
Or has it merely watched as wounds have bled?

Recurring Regret

I’ve been dreaming of you again:
My bloodless sister, my long-lost friend.
We used to be as thick as thieves,
Until stealing away became my trend.

I’d caught anger and fallen ill;
And thinking quarantine was best,
I shut you out until you caught a chill
And decided to leave me to my rest.

But now I see you in my dreams
And in them, we are friends again;
But in waking up, I recall the years,
And I only want to sleep again.


I twist myself in knots:
My rope, these aching thoughts;
The maddening echoes I have wrought
By eclipsing every light around.

I call myself so very clever;
I know that nothing lasts forever,
And so to all trapdoors I pull the lever
And listen for the falling sound.

But there’s no tresspasser standing;
No enemy there is dancing,
And I can spend my life demanding
For the culprit to be found.

Yet still there’s something missing
And though the well is filled with wishing
It’s as well as rod-less fishing
And I fear that I’ll be drowned.


He will be here on the morrow,
Just as he has been today;
His middle name is Sorrow,
And he hangs on every word I say.
A better suitor I can’t ask for;
He’s a wonder to behold!
He sees me to my core
And still, will be here when I’m frail and old.
My every flaw and trouble
At his feet they lay the blame;
Which only makes me like him double,
For it’s such a favor I cannot repay.
He calls me on my bluffs, you see;
Yet he’s the liar, they will say.
While whatever else I might be,
They define me by his stay.