Night Never EndsNight never ends here -the thin blue linea stranger packs in his bagsbefore losing his mind;the scratch behind our eyesthat keeps us movingdown the highway.It is a jail cell at three a.m.,the warden playing cards,whiskey wetting his dreamswhere a spark lays wasteto a family left behind;the backlight of a slum,a thousand rooms of winterand water leaking in a lightbulbover your head.It is midnight in a foxhole,the strafe of friendly firelike a flashlight to beatthe weary-woundedinto watching for a sign;the last drink festering on formicasix inches of crushed tafettawearing out its welcomeon a barstool called home.It is dawn in the mortuarylast night's pickingscarved up for christmasspecial delivery to no onewho will care;and the silent mourning bedlamleft thinking on the drainboardcarted out for the trashmento haul awayand sell.
MessAnd there she sat,a perfect mess,with golden hairand cadmium eyes.Where is the life?she wondered,Who am I>And there she sat,a perfect mess,with her head in her hands,and her feet in the water.Where am I going?she wondered,Where have I been?And there she sat,a perfect mess,across from a lover of whom she knows not,I wonder, I wonder, I wonderAnd there she sat,two years ago,in this same seat,eating this same meal,across from this same lover,in the exact same way.And she said "I don't love you"But does she remember?She never does.
SometimesSometimes I feel like,There's no worth in my life.Sometimes I start to think,I'm a ship starting to sink.Sometimes I scream,At the girl in the mirror who I see.I tell her she's not good enough,Never deserving love.Slap her and beat her down.Because all she merits is being driven to the ground.Sometimes I'll stare at the ceiling,Trying to silence my feelings.As the tears fall from the corners of my eyes,I call her weak and tell her not to cry.She isn't who I want to be.But that girl is me.Sometimes I wish that I,Could destroy this shell I live inside.
InnocenceEvery day I see you, I see a smileYour existance is a bliss that's worth the whileThe way you laugh when someone tries to make you cryIt's impossible for many, but you don't even have to tryHow curious those eyes are when they see something newWhatever you say is always trueThe things you think are clean and pureYour kind words are the ultimaate cureIf only all this could lastBut I know it all will passWhen you realize the darkness of this landJust stay as you are, and you'll understand
One Of UsIt's when the motels and the sex feel so much cheaperthan the cigarettes smoked after.When you wake up and see the broken heelsthat weren't actually so classy.It's when the headache wears offa day after your perfume does.It's when you wake up and see herand she's lukewarm,like the vodka that coaxed her there.It's the Wednesday morning where you tip toe out the doorhoping no one sees you.It's the time you get in the showerand find the tatto.It's the hangover that lasts a week,the bangover that lasts another.It's the work day you missed to go to the clinic,and the "halleluja" at the negative test results.That's when you know you're one of us.
Broken Angels - Chapter 1Broken AngelsChapter OneReturn to Earth/-~*~-/Cold yellow light filtered down from a guttering streetlamp, casting moving, eerie shadowsupon the sidewalk below. Appart from the occational flicker from the lamp or one of its dieingneighbors, there seemed not to be a single thing moving in the chilly air.Vapor rose in the cool air from the lips of a handsome boy. His deep green eyes seemed toswim like mossy pools, ever so slightly hidden in the bangs of his dark blonde hair so that hekept having to flick it away every now and then. He had high cheekbones and a perfectlysmooth, georgeous face. He seemed to be built without a flaw, perfectly slender and aseriene beauty seemed to hang around every smooth curve of his body. The boy's back wasleaning against an old brick wall, the vapor from his breath curling around his lips for amoment like smoke each time he breathed out before dissappearing into the cold air.With a sigh he shoved his hands into the pockets of h