Swept by Night

She says she's too drunk on beer and high on coke.
I can tell by the way she moves that its the truth. 
Irony brought to life slinging darts at the wall, 
and I laugh at it as if it were a joke. 
They're chasing a ruse through flesh 
biting arms and chewing through needs
Snorting powder and seeking something only God can fill. 

Beauty and sex are at war with each other 
dogfighting for dominance and desire. 
Most these women want to be cocaine, 
chased and coveted, tasted for purity 
They're trying to draw love from memory-
in a mind that's been too cloudy to remember it. 
 
Fulfillment is a concept that is understood like hunger, 
or Absence, or Abandonment. 
A searching for something that should be there but is beyond the fingertips. 

She knocks a glass from the table that shatters the way truth hits lies. 
The broken glass is a reflection of themselves. Shards of light forsaking purpose.
Jagged and jaded, swept away by the night. 

Lingering

In goodbye she embraces me slowly and sweet 
Gently caressing me as she kissed my cheek 
Swearing fidelity to promises she won't keep 
And in a moment I'm captivated. 

Her beauty bleeds out past cigarettes
Blonde strands escape her barretts 
Her eyes alight with a love not met
and I'm curiously invigorated. 

A smile holds a balance of dark and light
Reaching friends in lectures turned to fights
A bold love straddling what's true and right 
and I observe the dynamic is complicated. 

She's a woman, feminine yet and still kind
She speaks and moves with a grace in time
Making her marks in memories and minds
...as I find my resistance is devastated. 

A little Sleep and Slumber

 We’re setting our clocks for doomsday and sleeping away our lives. Walking in fear through the worlds shadows, small from mockery by evils despised We’ve chosen to fellowship with death, throwing half a lot in the plate, Seldom giving a second breath to insight that God controls our fate.

We dance in these silhouettes,
drunk on wine and anxiety
Dressed in our best presumptions
and self adorned piety.

We champions ourselves as masters of doctrines,
We mask ourselves in boastful lies
We hide from our ineffectual existence
surrounded by the lost that we despise.

We're setting our clocks for doomsday, and sleeping our lives away.
Choking on plastic identities, damned by all that we didn't say.

The Angels light

Her eyes hold wisdom and beauty like the constellations set at creation by God's own hand.
I searched every house of light to no avail. 
Just to find her glowing in the dark. 
To hold her hand in the starlight,
unified in purpose. 
Words are too heavy to speak, 
I am tongue-tied in silent admiration. 
She adorns herself in the beauty of God
and resiliant humanity. 

I yearn to traverse the starlight,
in the quiet forming of the shape of love.
to hold the warmth of the heart in a moment
To contrast the cold of the dark 

Hipster Chicks

When will you get sick of being smooth lipped hipster chicks whispering backbiting bitter quips.
I myself outpaced the cattiness and the brattiness,  all the smug faced nastiness.   
Compassion isn’t absurdity. graciousness is a sign of maturity.
Speaking in riddled one word plays how can anyone communicate that way, 
Why should people care what you've to say, speaking in riddled veiled one word plays? Who even communicates that way?
You see you're a self absorbed narcissistic faker, Never a giver, only a taker.
You don’t care how those around you are, or struggle. You don’t set foot outside your bubble.
The world is yours blotting out problems to your ears, so selective within your attention sphere. 

I need you to give something on back because I cant carry on with the weight of us both
Friendship one sided shows a growing lack, and I’ve gotten tired of building the most. 

Etched Words

I’d write the words if I had them
 They’d curve and arch with each syllable like a craftsman etching marble
 Each one chipping away at truth a slow piece at a time.
 I’d form the words if I had them, and carve them into stone hearts
 And trace them as if they were flesh again.
 But words often betray me
 They speak of hope among warning signs
 If I had the words I’d tell you of the blood
 Or maybe I’d spare you the sadness
 Maybe if I had the words I wouldn’t speak them
 I’d just cradle you in silent understanding
 Like a worthy man, returning from war, to the arms of forgiveness
 To the arms of peace.
 If I had the words I’d tell you

truth like life (scrap)

 Truth, like life, is often a very funny thing. 

Truth, like life, is often a very difficult thing to bear. 

I try to believe that I’m an honest man. I haven’t much claim to being a distinguished man or particularly proper, but It’s been said that I am honest. 

To tell the truth is often to hurt. To hurt the hearer, and to hurt the bearer with foreknowledge. 

Truth, like life, is often a liberating thing. 

Truth, like life, is often a solitary thing.