Kiss me then leave the next day

Love is for the idle dreamers,
they covet it like a pirate,
alone at the sea for years
searching for the most golden treasure in all of the seven seas.

But me you see, I’m different.
What I want is far from the fairytales I was raised on,
the ones that inhabited my veins and brain for years on end.
It’s not something for those epic love songs,
or love stories in orgasmic movies that make loveless teenagers girls swoon.

I want a lover to drink with, in the moments before the broken hour,
someone to dance with in the bottom of midnight,
I don’t need to feel like the only one,
to receive flowers at my door the very next day,
to belong to some grand idea of sweeping beauty and ideals of a time gone by.

I met a boy, in a dusk of delightful desire,
and come across me was a feeling of peace
when is eyes placed themselves on my fault-full face,
but I won’t kiss him with devotion,
I won’t hold him close to my chest and speak in magnificent epigrams,
all I desire in my born broken heart
is for him never to close enough,
to see the girl crying,
to see the child still holding on to roses left at her door
and take me dancing.

It’s all been done before

Coffee and roses beaming through
cracked walks of ivy and stone.

Like wine glasses emptying slowly
bleeding into the floor.

Give me a glass, give me neon.
Give me sultry desire wrapped up in glitter.

Burnt out cars, window tainted sour
driving into the midnight sunset.

Trust me when I say, stay away from the moors,
all that lays there are death and lonely skeletons

Children who won’t grow up,
they lay lost, oh please give me hope.

Smelling coffee and roses,
singing lost stories.

Don’t Say Anything

Translucent minds and hazy nights,
why did you wake up next to me?

You then stayed, kissed my skin,
why did you leave the very next day?

Screaming in silent through the years,
ghosts of ghosts,
sinking to the ocean floor.

You didn’t show up again.
Heart in hand,
kissed me in a dream
and then I made you leave.

Transparent minds and clear nights,
we wake up in separate beds,
separate countries

no longer dreaming of each other.

The Lost Girl

The lost girl is free to run around the world,
surrounded by forgotten tears and broken dreams;
with her glitter stained bruises
and nails painted with cigarette smoke,
she walks alone, a damaged little girl
everybody knows she’s ruined to her core.

The lost girl can do what she pleases,
takes what’s given to her, looking out for love
in pools of glass shards;
dancing to the beat of a broken heart,
her eyes too dazed to make her way back home.

The lost girl is getting younger each year.
Regressing into a little child.
Needing a saviour or a saint
to get her out of deathly dreams.

The lost girl is in a broken-down car.
Driving to her utopia;

she’s about to crash.