a light mist tarried
o'er the slow moving river
on that autumn morn

Box fitted vans moving on the prowl.
Waiting for these kids in an easy take
Preteen gangster violence,
With your lovely daughter playing *******.
We're all thievish wolves,
All hungry for more, we're hungry for more.

So please tell me that this is under control.
As our sons sniffing the product you were forced to recall.
Please tell me that this is under control
while your misses is prostituting just to feel at home.
Please tell me that this is under control
While my darling little princess is lying tagged by the toe.

Our therapies are burning and our do hearts do swell,
Which has got us in love with these feelings, that we've never felt.
And I'll take these violent words as nothing more then a test.
Try to feed me please for this is nothing more then a crimson mess.

This nuclear family
Is decaying
Right in front of me,
Right in front of me.

Covered by the trace in the hallow moonlight, pack of wolves at our back.
Some one calls out in silence, are fresh killers what we lack?
We're ragged fools, just fear in the fold only to feel at home.

Our therapies are burning as our do hearts do swell,
Which has got us in love with these feelings, that we've never felt.
And I'll take this fermented world, right off my chest.
Then lead you to the ruins, for the better I digress.

Now forgive me, this is how the story goes.
Feeding in the innocent stripped to the bones.

Please tell me that this is under control
While your misses is prostituting just to feel at home.
Please tell me we are under control.
Swinging from the gallows, caught by the throat.

I remember one of my favorite moments
Was laying in your bed listening to poetry.
You would wait until Andrea Gibson was done speaking
To announce all your favorite parts.
And I wanted to let you know,
That I would love to kiss you in the ocean
And I would love to be your lightning
As long as you promise to shake me like thunder
Because the sound of your voice makes my heart race
And you are such an naturally beautiful phenomenon
That I'm afraid of you, but you don't scare me, no,
You just make me nervous with excitement and awe
And while I pick my jaw up off of the floor,
I see you standing in the kitchen,
Pacing and wondering what I'm thinking,
And me, sitting silently, watching you,
Loving every aspect of you, and you
Never cleaning up the mess at your sink,
But just rearranging it into new chaos.
We were new chaos,
And I'm sorry if that scared you,
But isn't there something exciting in being so scared?
No one has ever been here before, they can't tell you how it will be
So let's accept the mess and brave it together.
And it's times like this where I wonder
If every time you were scared, you'd look for a safe bet,
And if I could ever live my life like that.
If I could ever treat my heart like that.
I wish you wouldn't, and I just couldn't,
Because all of my stumbles and falls and scrapes and scars
That I wear unapologetically and brave
Led me to that bed with you listening to poetry
And I was lost at sea, thunder and lightning,
And I was so scared,
And I was so excited,
Hoping we could be lost at sea forever.

O stony grey soil of Monaghan

The laugh from my love you thieved;

You took the gay child of my passion

And gave me your clod-conceived.



You clogged the feet of my boyhood

And I believed that my stumble

Had the poise and stride of Apollo

And his voice my thick tongued mumble.



You told me the plough was immortal!

O green-life conquering plough!

The mandril stained, your coulter blunted

In the smooth lea-field of my brow.



You sang on steaming dunghills

A song of cowards' brood,

You perfumed my clothes with weasel itch,

You fed me on swinish food



You flung a ditch on my vision

Of beauty, love and truth.

O stony grey soil of Monaghan

You burgled my bank of youth!



Lost the long hours of pleasure

All the women that love young men.

O can I stilll stroke the monster's back

Or write with unpoisoned pen.



His name in these lonely verses

Or mention the dark fields where

The first gay flight of my lyric

Got caught in a peasant's prayer.



Mullahinsa, Drummeril, Black Shanco-

Wherever I turn I see

In the stony grey soil of Monaghan

Dead loves that were born for me.

All my life I've been lectured to stay away from the dangerous things in life.
Stray animals, unknown substances, drugs, alcohol, and the things in between.
But no one ever warned me about the dangers of falling in love.
The way it resembles all the listed dangers.
Oh how love can wound my heart as if it has clawed it bit by bit.
Oh how love is so world known yet so strange and confusing.
Oh how love takes me to the highest clouds with addiction being the aftermath.
Oh how love can make me fumble, release my secrets, and bring me a pounding ache the morning after.
But no one ever warned me about the dangers of falling in love.
Maybe because love in all reality is far worse than any spiked drink.
Worse than a pill that drives me insane.
Worse than being mauled by sharp teeth and claws.
Love is more of a carcinogen.
Flowing through my bloodstream, unwanted, hurtful.
A substance I can't remove, despite the many attempts.
Love is far too dangerous for one to speak of.
Love is something so dangerous we refuse to accept it as an actual threat.

I use to hope that you'd keep that
photo of me tacked by your bedside
but you took it down, (vengefully)
I know this because you tore out the portraits
of me from your sketchbook the first time around

so I hope you find bobby pins still within your clothes
catch whiffs of my old perfume on the streets and feel your
spine cinch softly, I hope a single earring rolls forward in the
desk drawer, but I really cannot hope these things anymore.

so i hope the earring stays lodged in the crack, that all stray bobby
pins find their way back and that my perfume is never worn, never worn
never worn. I hope that my perfume is never worn
around
you.