66 Needles.

I could dive into those coconuts and rest my weary little head,
A place to starve myself from my longing to be dead,
A feeling that so forever has done haunt me
Though I know too well the end is daunting.

There is no prison of bad memories to allure me inside,
There are no pockets of dead promises for love to crawl and hide
Just a bunch of empty craters on a new moons face,
Can new stories be contained within the emptiness of space?
I'll have to rip apart the traits that I inherited from Dad
To breathe life into a simple dream that I have had.
Where curly wurly's saved a girl from the dead end of bliss,
Because I promised that I show who she really is;
A girl who's words are like fragments of a future muse,
A girl who's arms could save a soul from past abuse,
A posture stiff with courage that she's never had to use,
Even known that she's possessed as the word is overused.
Though still empty are my days as I am tempted to quit,
Like most projects I most likely won't commit;
This will save a seal from crashing dead upon the rocks,
And keep afloat her boat with just the gentlest of knocks
But where's the gain in stopping when I'll only hurt myself?
I'd rather watch a toy be placed back broken on the shelf
Than waste the abundance of smileys that have fled into my eyes
With 66 needles that sparked both my strength and my demise.


There's fear in every day that my words will go to waste,
Will burn themselves to dust, ignited by their haste,
But if I sit back and mull on this delightful taste
Her boat could float out of reach, without a trace.
I can't help but let my love run blind.
I can't help that she's a constant in my mind.
I can't help but long to hold her in my arms,
Falling in to sleep, knowing that she's mine.

I'm drawn between two stories, I question what I want -
To make the most of my youth or find stability to flaunt?
Through all this complication I shall bereft it of complexity;
It's the old-stone case of freedom vs. fidelity