pilot my voice over the ceilings of ivy-dripping buildings,
the dying trees between the sidewalk and the street.
if weeks go by before you notice that i'm gone,
i wouldn't waste your time working yourself up;
i didn't say goodbye because it's now a matter of trust.
if the right words are just like winter winds,
then i'm bodied by bitterness, following bottles down a river,
even though it seems that messages are delivered
to the people who least deserve that kind of deliverance.

i'm only a bird - soft-colored and nondescript;
spent cold nights sitting on windowsills, seeing
you in your unremarkable, moonlit reflections.
i'm convinced that what matters most isn't what's told
but rather who it is that tells you it - as when flurries of snow
fall on your open eyes, i hope it will bury you alive.
get drunk off it all through tunnels, but i can't stay to hear what you want;
if you ever get this, don't go fall in love with someone like me
because we're the ones who fell for love.
here, My Dear, here it is
Last edited by SubwayToVenus at Nov 29, 2011,