Through the Window Pane

 There's a thin layer of frost between me and the outside world.  And the butterflies in my gut tell me I'm lost.  That the lurching feeling is the only thing that's real.  That when the train stops, I probably won't get off.  Because I'm afraid.  Afraid to take those few steps that truly mean anything.  Afraid of success.  Afraid of failure.  Because where I am right now, it's warm.  So really, I'm afraid of the cold.  Or maybe I'm just afraid of the Pain that holds it back.  Not because it makes my skin crack and bleed.  But because it forces my heart to skip a beat.  And I can't afford that.  Because if it happens too much, my brain won't get enough blood, then my lungs won't get enough oxygen, and I'll forget the important things.  Like how to breath, and how the ocean feels, all the little details about Her, and everything my parents told me was Real.  But, most of all.  I'm afraid that no one else has a heart as big as mine.  Afraid, that I'll never get that kind of love in return.

Coma

The fact is . . . I'm dead.  I don't feel like it, but everyone says I am.  I'm 17 years old, and they say I died in 2012.  It just doesn't add up.  Plus, today is June 6 2020, my birthday.  But the only flames I see are Hell, and I need bigger lungs to blow those out.  While I was distracted with the thought of unending suffering, I heard something rare, yet familiar.  A boy, . . . my brother!  I strain to hear what he's saying.  "Britain, I can see you, you're not dead so don't listen to what everyone else says, I just know it. . ."

1: Is the brother real, or a hallucination?
2: If Britain isn't dead, where is he?
3: How will he get out?

Ashes to Ashes

As I lose focus, I see a beautiful woman in the page.  Mixed, with the words and phrases of age.  Sitting there, Her black and white print staring back at me.  Hoping, she'll wrap me in gentle sorrow.  The closer she gets, the more the ink bleeds into the page, and the more I yearn for the brush of paper on skin.  But touching Hurts too much, and each line just becomes a part of me I wish to forget.  I can't.  These lyrics have already filled me from within.  Swimming through my veins and crawling through my heart.  There, she finds her rest.  Only waking at the moments when I feel at my best.  And causing me torment and anguish when I sleep.  My only comfort is that one day my heart will take it's final beat.  That's when I'll lose my focus again.  I'll no longer have to bear standing on sore feet, and I'll just fall into your rough embrace, a stone smile fixed upon my face.  That's all I ever wanted.  The knowledge of books.  The phrases of time.  The beauty of the Woman in the page.  A love that could've been mine. . .  So I burned the book, and I never looked back.

Joe & Matthias

Prodding, to reopen Time.

They were finding it difficult to crack. . .