Countless numbers being counted on my hands. One two three. One two three. One two three.



I'll look at the cars passing just over the small gate, down the street, that over looks the glowing freeway. I see the same glow in your eyes when you talk. That certain subject always lets out light and gives a spark in your voice. Clearing your throat and settling your fingers on your lap. You stand still and begin to have a speaker's voice and you let it all run out. Like the moving water. Like the moving river. I am the fish running upstream. This is my first time. All the other fish tell me I must fight with it and yell at the stream to let me through so that every time after, I will never be afraid again. But they also tell me that if I can't overcome this fear, that I shall let the water take me down with it. The water will treat me the way the way the oceans have treated me. And I will never swim to the cool waters, and I will never see our home. I pick up my books and read useful words to write to you on clean paper. Clean white paper with perfect lines to the naked eye. But you never pick them up. Just like you will never understand the words here. You will see them as a short story. You will see them as simple thoughts but the puzzle pieces will never be perfectly fit together. Your missing piece must be under your couch, in your dresser, stuck in a shoe, or right in front of you. You cut it up because you want to ignore this. The truth is, I cut up the puzzle pieces. I never clearly want you to figure me out. I want you to become aware that I am a fish and I will swim up stream but you will never know what's going through my head while I am doing it. So let me count again on my fingers.


One two three. One two three. One two...







Let the neon lights glow. Let them glow.








Three.

I'm not really into telling the truth any more these days. I keep my deepest darkest secrets beneath my shirt and tucked in my shirt pocket. I write the lines of my songs on a torn piece of paper that I find on the floor and I never let anyone know where it comes from. This is how it will be from now on, well at least until you finally realize what's going through my head.

My heart stops suddenly when I think about the things you say to me. How people prefer you over others and I realize maybe its just a big story line filled with horrible plots that we all know will resolve some time or another. It's simple and easy. Your simple and easy. I understand you completely even though I pretend not to so that you could talk to me more. I like the sound of your voice when you tell me your secrets and are excited about the current events. I picture your voice when you tell me you miss me through electronic messages. I'd like to think that someday i would hear it in person but for now I will only smile and listen to the things you have to say.



So let the wind fall slowly into my pocket while I control the weather and your mind. You'll continue to think that I'm content with you and I'll tell my stories as fanciful as I can. (just as I am doing now) Don't follow the obvious. Unmask the hidden and all the answers will flow right into your palms.

I think about the things I've done and I question my actions. I fall into a bottomless pit of questions with unfound answers. I call my self to wake me up but I cant help but to look back at the road two feet away from my current steps. I wake up and I still wish I didn't do things I did. Countless times have I made stupid mistakes but always do the biggest ones stand out.




Never will I be able to forget or erase. So never mention them and I'll never tell them. They will no longer be our stories to tell.

first trips.

Must I die a painful death to become renown? Must I fall under a bridge for my name to be printed? Will my words rot in a room that passes by many eyes? Will my body become a monument of an age? I fail to thrive in a world full of the dead and live in a world where my life is threatened by the vast colors.





I watch my feet walk by the glass mirrors and I see my shoes go through each mirror, growing old and dark. But my mind never ages. The mirrors grow bigger and my life becomes smaller. Only at the beginning of the very first small mirror do I feel my life expanding. I am bigger and I will grow.

Welcome home babe.

Welcome back home sweet heart. Welcome back. Where have you been? I've been around, learning the possibilities of my actions and counting the seconds till I feel my heart sinking back into it's place once again. I don't know what made me do it. You can say it was feeling and I can tell you it was my thoughts. I felt that my time had come again for the world to see me inside and out. They could feel the cold wind that was flowing from my finger tips and the ends of my toes. The hair on my arms rose and i knew that it was calling me out like a bad habit. The strong smell of alcohol beckoned to me and this time it wasn't the alcohol, it was the words that needed to be said. So here I am with a new life and new obstacles telling my tale in a book filled with pictures and bumps. Bumps that tell you the future. I saw the feeling of the majestic shapes, how do you see a feeling? I can never tell you. I can only show you. Read my bumps feel my words. tell me your soul. show me your story. But it is only a story. Because it is not your present. your present lasts for but a second and then it's gone. It becomes a story. A story you tell to gain attention and so here I am calling you out. Telling you and begging you to listen to my story.

I feel you staring at the corner of your eye. Something inside you is making this signature symbol that only you can bestow upon everyone else. I'm not seeing this with my own two eyes but I'm seeing this with my thoughts. I feel your hair blowing in the cold wind and I know what you feel. I've been there and I've done that. Try walking away twice and many times as you have and you have my story in your hands and mind. It's flowing through everyone's windows because if you've experienced it, your welcome into another chapter. Another book. And another sentence. Your calling them over. Hoping someone would hear. You whisper hoping they'd hear you. Like he said, "sing like you want me to hear." And so they do. They smile heavenly because they knew this would happen. The communication over the past couple days has grown to tremendous amounts creating a general atmosphere of shear love and tension. You've been counting down the days till you could do this. you knew they'd be there. You knew. But see the bumps are still unclear about this all. All of it is misread. It could be. I don't master it. It is not a home language but I can predict. My eye lashes fall on my cheeks and re read everything over again. I could be wrong. No really, I could be.



So where will I go next? Some place different? Stay here and make use of what I really have.

Consider the odds. Consider the obvious. Take it all into account and then come talk to me. I'll be following the wind and we will become one but until then keep counting. Keep reciting. Keep forgiving. and once and for all...





keep falling.