Travis Smith's Blog

Hourglass
With memories so tangibly concrete—Salty spray in our hair, waves lapping at our feet—The mind may effortlessly recall, nebulous chemicals recreating every instant of the fall, revisiting each moment of blissful simplicity, escaping to nostalgic electricity; our minds at peace, our hearts at ease, your eyes alight in the ocean breeze, a moment apart from life’s cruel demand, hand-in-hand, with feet buried in the sand, our slender silhouettes set against the setting sun like two hourglasses, straining to stop the sliding sand with every moment that passes …
But time is just a formless measure
of distance, and if distance makes
the heart grow fonder, then across
hour after hour I would wander to retain even a grain of that tranquil serenity,that bliss that exists not in form but in memory: though with each self-indulgent pass, I find that every hour is made of glass, and they crack and fracture with every grain of sand that slips past, threatening to burst and spill their contents of infinity, and every hour turns to days and days to years, until a sea of sand separates you from me.
So the memory alters with each pass I make through, and the first thing I note that is missing is you; then the breeze dissipates as I wander in wait, and the sunset and shore are too much for my mind to recreate, and what once was a haven is now arid and barren: a loveless desert whose sands ensnare, whose limitless horizon harbors not the promise of possibility, but whose glassy walls reflect only my own despair, and the deeper within the sands I sink, the smaller the glassy walls shrink until I’m crushed within the narrow nexus of what lay ahead, trapped, captive within my own head, and just when it seems that all is lost … it ends; I land softly on my feet in the opposite sands, and an upside-down existence without you begins.

Multi-System Organ Failure—

When my eyes fell upon your frame,You took the breath from out my lungs.Your voice, which softly spoke my name,The sweetest song that’s ever sung.
It hastens pace, this heart of mine,Then swells to burst inside my chestWhen all your fingertips, so fine,Upon my own do come to rest.
My stomach fills with butterfliesAnd my intestines somersault.When I get lost inside your eyes,Your boon, unblemished, I exalt.
A cold sweat covers all my skinEach time we meet in an embrace,All while my mouth dries from within,Your faultless hand upon my face.
We changed our bodies’ chemistriesThe very moment that we met.What followed—instability—Left us pathetic and upset.
Now,My larynx quivers when it speaks your name,That wretched word brings naught but pain—It ails my brain; it drives me insane!What once was my boon has become only bane!You’re the dark cloud now overtaking my mindSending deadly bolts of lightning down my spineTo strike the levies in my veins,Flood my blood with acid rain,And burst the pipelines, seeping acrid oilTo ooze from my skin and blister and boil, To blacken my organs and cloud my thoughts,Turn my beating heart to a necrotic pocket of rot That quivers and cramps while my fetid blood thickens to clot,Twist my gut to knots and set my tongue to frothWith a flood of drool and snot in a futile attempt to protect my teethFrom the vomit induced when I hear you speak.Just the thought of you sets my teeth to clench.Upon my nostrils entrenched, your noxious stench,And if I ever yearn for your touch, my fingers burn; it’s too much!My stomach churns and skin turns to squirm and slitherLike a ball of baby eels ‘til it blackens and withersFrom every inch you’ve ever kissed,A sentiment, admittedly, sorely missed.

I come home from a day that’s as tiring as blandAnd sit down with some paper and pens in my hand,And, when I reflect on this life that I scorn,A fantastic and folkloric world will be born.
I’m so tired of struggling day after dayTo keep things copacetic and going my way,But I can’t keep my troubles and problems at bay,So I’ll conjure up realms with creatures so gay.
I’ll construct and envision this world of my ownThat thousands of residents will soon call their home.I’ll ensure that they trust me and do what I will,Lest my hand become achy and pen become still.


“Genesis”
In the very beginning, I wrote of this landThat soon would be fit to be dwelt on by man,But, first, I could see that it wasn’t preparedAnd that man on this land would be nothing but scared,So I thought to myself, “Hey, let there be light!”And the lights came at once as the end-all of fright.So I made all the trees, and I made all the plants,And I made all the bugs like mosquitos and ants,And I made all the deer and the birds and the frogs,And I made all the weird ones that lodge inside logs,Yes, I made all this up, from the tip of my pen,All the cows and the pigs and the roosters and hens.I made every atom and each grain of sandAnd each billion species spread over the land,And for a few days I let them all run amuck,But they multiplied faster than food at potluck.So I sat back and thought, How to keep them restrained?For hours and hours I racked my poor brain,Then I finally thought that I’d throw in a dudeWho could kill them and cook them and use them for food.Thus, Adam was born, but he seemed rather sad,Just a tired and lonely and sorrowful lad,So I took out his rib, and I wiggled it quick,And shortly thereafter turned it into a chick.So Adam and Eve for a while coexist,But I knew there was some vital point I had missed.

Yes, something was wrong; I was bored all the time,So I thought to make some small change to their minds.I snuck in at night with my white-out and pen,And this notion of lying, I snuck it right in,But when neither Adam nor Eve made a moveTo be entertaining or try to improve,I sent in a serpent I’d made on day oneAnd told him to tempt them to make this more fun.I gave them an order to not eat this fruit,And I was convincing; they couldn’t dispute.So finally now I could watch in excitement,As Eve struggled to just resist her enticement,But of course she gave in, as I knew that she would,And I have to admit that it felt kind of good,But I punished her justly by making her bleedAnd knew from now on my advice she would heed,And when, after all, she and Adam lay down,I allowed them some children, despite my slight frown.For as many days later as I can recall,I watched all the children approach their downfall.I watched from afar, and I grinned with great zest,When I saw all the sodomy and the incest.I instilled in their minds notions of this taboo,But it mattered not; they were doing it too.The years came and went, and the crimes just got worseUntil my poor world became slightly adverse. I was ever so close to tearing to shredsAll the pages and pages on top of my bed,But that would be waste of my time and my skill,So I conjured a man who would bend to my will,And I told him to build up a very large boat.“Take two of each creature about whom I wrote.”I’d just drown all the liars and cheaters with flawsAnd start back from scratch with a new set of laws.




“Leviticus”
So to all my new rules every man would adhere,For he’d know of my wrath, and my rage he would fear,But soon I found out that that gene had slipped through,And it made man revolt and defy me anew,So I watched in disdain as my world waned again,And I watched all the shady, unethical menAs they raped and pillaged and had sex with the beasts,‘Til I took up my pen, and my ire was unleashed.Ev’ry man on this earth would soon know me by name,And every child would endure pain and shame. Thus, I made all my aims indisputably clear,And I set forth to veto streetwalkers and queers:
“All magicians and lepers, inferior too,Will be traded as slaves for the masses of you,And if you neglect to succumb to my willAnd you blaspheme, self-harm, or sell your sex still,I declare that the holy shall discharge my rageAnd shall stone you and kill you, regardless of age.”Then I shortened the lives of all of my swineAnd promised the good ones a new life, so divine,That would come after death if I deemed them all pure;I would bribe them with Heaven, such earnest allure,But this notion immortal would not be enough,And I had to respect that some may call my bluff,So I conjured another thereafter as well,And I filled it with demons and christened it “Hell.”If my men still refused to see all things my way,And their flaws and temptations still led them astray,I would smite them and damn them, condemn them for goodTo suffer eternal distress, as they should.All the wizards and robbers and men who love menWill think twice before they succumb to their sin, And the bondsmen who think that their slaves are their peersWill suffer my vengeance upon them for years.I declared that the very last day of the weekShould be dedicated entirely to me,And if any sinners should live in remorse,They’re only expected to slaughter a horseAnd offer it up, sacrifice it for me,And hold up its carcass so that I can see.In this way the masses will not render me vexed,And I may just forgive some unnatural sexAs long as they know that I watch from above,And they must just repent to recover my love.
“Job”
Well even these eerie ultimatums of HellCame back to haunt me and leave me unwell.Some men could not handle the thought of this fate,And sometimes went out of their ways to be great,But this sightless devotion was taken too farBy a man who would constantly plea my radar.Job thought that his wife and his children were cursed,So his alms he would give, and his prayers he rehearsed,But this ceaseless complaining got under my skin ‘Til I told a Hell-demon to smash his house in.Well Satan succeeded in wrecking the houseBut forgot to warn all of Job’s kids to get out,And when I looked down at the grief I had made,I saw Job’s response, and I was dismayed.In no time he was sitting outside with no dressAnd praising my name in the light of this mess.As my temper was rising due to his blind hope,I reached for my pen because I could not cope.I swiftly delivered him terrible painAnd speckled his soul with unbearable shame,But he still did not yield, and he thought he had wrongedTo deserve all this suffering I had prolonged.So I kept him in torment, discomfort, and harm,And I made him have boils on his face and his arms‘Til he finally blamed me, and I came to findThat I did not like when Job questioned my mind.Now my temper had risen once more, and I thoughtThat poor Job had at last done what he should not,But I did not worry with what I had done,And I rationalized that it was kind of fun,And Job I had made; I could take him awayIf he thought for a second he had any say.So I sent out a storm equal only to Me,And I spoke through the winds so that Job must agreeThat I was his savior and giver of life,And I could decide whom to saddle with strife.
“Malachi”
So between all the sinners and saintly devout,My creations were making me pull my hair out,And some men would come forth to boldly defy meWhile others would vindicate and rectify me.When I started to think that things could not be worse,Other men tried to claim I was well-rehearsedAnd that they alone were my vessels on earthWhom I’d written with singular, uncommon worth.They called themselves prophets, my eyes and my ears,And in others they struck insurmountable fearsWhen they preached of my vengeance and plans to come downAnd finally show them my skillful renown.They claimed I was after the worst of the worst,The servants of Satan who killed and were cursed,But they failed to acknowledge that in my own eyes,All the vain satisfaction surrounding their liesWas much less entertaining than infrequent deathsCarried out by his lackeys at Satan’s request.I just sat there and stared so ambivalentlyAt the things in my world who were forsaking me;I could not abide all the sin and the crime,But I also disliked those who called themselves mine.False worshipers and prophets were topping my listUntil Malachi reared his head to say this:“All your gifts are displeasing; your priests all tell lies,And with husbands routinely divorcing their wives,It’s not hard to believe that our Lord is displeased;It’s we men He created who cause Him to grieve.So before He descends from His Heavenly throne,He will send out a son who will, all on his own,Set this world back to right and then leave us prepared,So we don’t have to live our whole lives feeling scared.”Although Malachi spoke so little of truth,I thought that his notions could be of some use,So in one last attempt to revive my dead world,With my pen in my hand and my fingers all curled,I began making plans for the coming of Christ,Who would teach all my men to be humble and niceAnd would teach them the right way to worship their GodAnd inform them that Satan was merely a fraud.All the saints would adore him and learn more of meWhile the sinners abhor him but would come to seeAll the things in their lives that they’d lost without sightOf what truly is just and what truly is right.
















“Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John”
So finally I wrote this character inWho would stay true to me and terminate sin;I gave him some gifts that no other men boreSo he could heal the sick and give aid to the poor,And Jesus excelled at fulfilling his jobs;He quelled the most violent, quarrelsome mobs.He cured all the lepers and turned water to wineJust to prove that he truly was something divine.He walked across water and calmed stormy seas;He cured men inflicted with deadly disease;He healed halitosis and cured chickenpoxAnd fixed the dysfunctions in men who can’t walk.He’d aid amputees and give sight to the blind;He’d liven the listless and fix feeble-mind.He’d campaign for the poor and berate those with wealthAnd punish their greed with bad luck and poor health.He travelled my lands and helped all my menPut an end to their crimes and be wholesome again;He cleaned out the smut that prevailed in my landAnd taught men that I was the one in command;He spread word of my grief and resentment and shameAnd told them my generous, virtuous aim,And just when I thought that my problems were through,A man came about, and he called himself “Jew.”Well this Jew led a clan that neglected my ways,And they kidnapped my men and made them be slaves,And they sought Jesus Christ just to put him to death,So I sat back and watched while I bated my breath. Despite his great work, I was kind of relieved,‘Cause Jesus had some men convinced he was Me,But nevertheless this was utter disgrace;All these Jews killed my Jesus right under my face.They beat him and shamed him in public outright,Then strung him and left him to hang there all night.Well needless to say, I was not impressed;I sat up with my pen, and I wrote with great zest.It took me three days, but when my work was complete,Jesus rose from the dead and was back on his feet.All the men were convinced he had died for their sin,Carried it to the grave and just left it within,And I could not believe what then came to beAs my men turned their backs and immediatelyJust dismissed all they’d learned from Jesus beforeHe was beaten and dragged through his own filth and gore.So my plan to preserve what I’d made just fell through,And I’d no one to thank save the self-righteous Jew.I almost gave up on my world and my men,But one final notion came through to me then.This was not a plan to restore what I’d made,And not one creation did I care to save,But merely discarding my world would not do;Much more exhilarating events would ensue.



“Revelation”
My final objective of fail-proof design,With epic proportions and purpose divine,Was due after all to the tribe of the Jews;Their dissension inspired me to fashion miscues.I’d warned many times of diviners untrueAnd threatened discord with my fearsome debut,But so guileless and callow, my men never failedTo be tempted, convinced, cajoled, and regaled.So I wrote up a new story called the Qur’an,And I warned them alike of the weakness of man. I cross-wired the creatures, instilled in them hateAnd watched them pursue their inevitable fate.Each mortal was sure that he knew what was right,And those who dissented were willing to fight,But my fun came too slow as my worlds staggered on;Holy wars were sporadic, and martyrs seemed wan;I wanted to hasten the pending demise,So I had many stories still left to devise: I wrote of Mohammed and Moses, St. Paul;I could tell that my men were not happy at all.I wrote next of Buddha, Confucius, and Gandhi;My world in a maelstrom, I watched rather fondly.The Talmud! The Veda! The Upanishad!All my men were defending their own hand-picked fraud.I wrote Tantras and Sunnah and Analects too,And made more faithful lackeys at every venue.And before I sat back, just for comic relief, I made a few groups with fantastic motif;The Mormons, upstaged by the Scientologists,Once bombs were flying, were on no account missed.
When debate turned to mayhem, my plan was ago, And I let them all clash; their demise would be slow.Soon the buildings were burning and children lay slainAs fully grown men gave their lives in My name;Many women were tortured and beaten to death;They were raped and died screaming until their last breaths;I saw elders and infants, and neither were spared;Bodies littered the streets, and no one seemed to care;The fighters were covered in napalm and bombs,And they strolled into churches with nary a qualm;Sleeping men would be smothered in rubble and smoke,And the ones who crawled out would be beaten and choked.




Then finally Jesus was observed on a hillAs he urged all his zombies to go have their fill.He travelled the streets raising men from the dead,And the sight of these corpses filled rivals with dread;The vampires and werewolves and swamp monsters cameTo worsen the havoc and cripple and maim.The dark wizards and demons and skeletons roseTo take part in the turmoil and butcher their foes.The rivers ran red with the blood of My menAs every man killed his fam’ly and friends.Heads were severed, limbs lost, and nothing was gained;All the babies were burned and the cripples were caned; Hands were covered in blood and some fragments of brains,And even the living endured endless pain.My mountains all crumbled and cascaded from high,And black acid rain drizzled down from the sky;In the rivers and oceans and inlets and seas,Icy water was frothing and rising with ease;The distant sun withered and smoldered to ashThat turned black and vanished with one final flash.The stars twinkled out, and some fell from aboveAnd fell upon men who had once hoped and loved.All my plants were soon withered; my trees were all fell;The whole world became My description of Hell;Dark billows of smoke spiraled up to the cloudsBefore settling back on the dead like a shroud.All presumptions forgot and friendliness failed,The meek just stood by watching trains get derailed;Falling aircrafts exploded, and ships all just sank,And the whole atmosphere of the planet just stankOf decay and quietus, and no sounds were heardSave the brays of the beasts and the cackle of birdsAnd the screams of the children and cries of the lostAnd the blasts of bombs and the gusts of exhaust.When I felt gratified and contented enough,All belligerence ceased, and each man just peered up,And beyond all the smog, they all seemed to gazeAs the sky was alight with Star Wormwood’s blaze.






Afterword
When I went to set fire to the stack of my works,I thought fleetingly of the duty I’d shirked.Though this turned out to be an enlightening chore,I just could not take all the stress any more.
I did feel kind of glum as I watched my men dieIn the fiery apocalypse out of their sky,But I’d done what I could to forgive their misdeeds,And then, in the end, I was forced to concede.
I gave life and envisioned this world of my own,And let thousands of residents call it their home,But the masses had doubt, would not bend to my will,
Thus, my hand became achy, and my pen became still.

"Freedom isn't free,"
Is what my mother said to me,
As she kissed my cheek
And shipped me off to the seventh cavalry.
And, though the draft was mandatory,
Insofar as I could see,
There wasn't much to be gained
For av'rage folks like you and me.

"Go show the world democracy!
And maybe Christianity..."
Check out our extensive history
Of segregation and slavery,
Of treason and Confederacy.
And never mind that sixty-three
Percent of all the world's countries
Are democratic already.

"Land of liberty!"
So long as you're the same as me.
And if you ever disagree,
You might get strung up from a tree
Like it's the Seventeenth Century,
'Cause it's the land of the free,
Home of hypocrisy,
And finding ways to vilify minorities.

"Education isn't free!"
Health care? Water that's clean?
This ain't a commie country.
Well, I still got my law degree,
And in the prison industry,
Freedom's wholly free,
So we put restrictive laws
On everything but weaponry.

Three Dog Night said, "One
is the loneliest number," but two
is shit.
No, the number 2 is actually shit.
It's the reason we all settle for less than we could actually get.
It's the reason we stand behind Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump
and murmur, "Did he really say that?"
while holding signs with his name in big bold letters
with no content on the front and no writing on the back.
It's the reason we come together to find ways to drive ourselves further apart,
why we sit back and watch--no, we buy tickets to and encourage--
the MMA match between our brains and our hearts
because we can follow only one or the other;
All that exists is the one or the other.

Two ... is literally the sophomore slump of numbers.
Imagine you created the perfect pillow,
Not 2 hard, not 2 soft, but ju-uuu-st right for Goldilocks to slumber;
And then somebody said, "But wait, I have this brick from that other fairy tale,"
and he slipped it underneath.
Is he serious? A brick under your pillow? How is this an improvement?
You have no choice but to remove it; the stack is too high; Goldilocks' neck is craning--!
But then you turn around and he's gone.
And so is your pillow.
And you're left sleeping on a brick because ... well, just because.

There are 2 sides to every story,
2 sides to every coin.
And with the way we arbitrarily pick sides, we may as well be flipping a coin,
but that's beside the point, and the point is two-fold.
One: there is always only two.
2 sides, 2 opinions, 2 options, 2 interpretations.
Two: they are separated by an immeasurable, untapped chasm of unknown,
a chasm into which, if you venture, you're likely to be perpetually alone,
because it's easy to stand atop cliff 1
and it's easy to stand atop cliff 2
because you can see, you're in the sun,
and when you scream and shout, people below can hear you.
But when you stand on the left and face your enemy on the right,
you see him flying the flag of his differences
and it's clear
you're day-and-night.
And when you stand on the black cliff and face your enemy on the white,
his hideous complexion repels you
and the infinite rainbow in between you two
is perpetually out of your sight.

So I guess if I had to take both points and roll them into one big awkward ball of different-colored Play-Doh that's sort of dried and crumbly and the two pieces don't really stick together ...
Better yet, if I could devise ONE point,
somewhere in between the two,
it would be this:
There are two sides to every story,
But the glory lies somewhere in between.
And if you waste half your life starting at the dirt worrying about your fate,
you'll undoubtedly waste the second half gazing to the clouds and dreaming up false comforts,
and you'll forever be blind to the chasm
that separates the two.

Act One began way back when mother had a sonWho asked her, “What’s the meaning of life? What happens when it’s done?”And, “What happened to the family dog? Where has grandma gone?”She put The Book into my hand and said to read it word-for word.“This holds the keys to every answer to every question you’ve ever heard.”And so I read it front to back, and then I read it all again;I went to church on every Sunday and on Wednesdays with my friends.I learned how all of life began and what would happen when it ends.If I lived a life divine, enduring glory would be mine,And I would see my loved ones all again until beyond the end of time.
There is life after death, and that’s the best part:If you’ve faith in your brain and love in your heart,There is naught to fear, for when mortal life ends,An existence eternal and blissful begins.









Act Two continued on through middle school,Where everyone who tried to help me, I regarded as a fool.I grew depressed and self-loathing like the other numb kids;I believed what they told me, and I behaved as they did.When my best friend climbed into the passenger seatWith his brother who’d had way too much to drink,They perished after pulling a most impressive feat;I saw photos of the wreckage and didn’t know what to think … I had long since lost my childish notions of Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.I had long since grown disinterested in cheap comforts and bedtime stories.While I’d have loved to believe I would see him again,I knew all that would ever matter had come to an end.His short life had held meaning for which few could contend,But we’d all seen the last of our dearest late friend.
There is no life after death, and that’s the best part;All we’re guaranteed in existence is a brain and a heart. There is nothing to fear, for when mortal life ends,There’s no pain or awareness, just like before it began.
Act Three was a breeze until the day you left me.The heartache you harbored must have been too great to seeFor you never sought help, never unshackled your grief,Just took a handful of pills so you could escape in your sleep …And it’s no one’s fault but mine that I didn’t stop to see the signsLike when you told me you felt ugly and I never noticed you were cryin’.I said, “The great thing about beauty is it exists whether you choose to see it or not,”And when I think of that night, my stomach turns to knots, my mind starts to rot.Maybe you got too selfish to see our selfish need. Maybe you just didn’t care enough to honor plans that we’d agreed.Maybe you were buried under too much weight to realize that you could’ve been great.Maybe you had too much on your plate to see things could be better if you’d only just wait.Maybe you got mad or carried-away and didn’t stop to think how we would miss you,But that isn’t the issue, and you’ve got friends who will dwell on all they didn’t and did do.I guess your curiosity wasn’t great enough to see what tomorrow could hold.To think where your mind must have been makes me shiver from cold.I do not believe what you did was a personal attack.I do not believe your last thoughts were of vengeance before all faded to black.I do not believe you only wanted to show us what we took for grantedBy abandoning us all to be forever disenchanted … But now I can never be sure; all I’m left here to do is wonder,Lost, alone, uncertain, and literally torn asunder.
Of course there’s life after death, and that’s the scariest part,For those left behind with bruised brains and broken hearts.All the bridges burned and lovers spurned and family turned to strangers,Words unspoken and questions unanswered and heartache that hardens to anger …There is life after death for all of us left behindWith our torturous thoughts and our muddled minds.It’s this undeniable fact that makes life so unkind:Being left alone and helpless, unable to rewind.

They call me CasanovaBecause I’m just that good. I see you walking over,Just as I knew you would.I glanced across the roomTo quickly catch your eye,Then shifted nervouslyTo make you think I’m shy,And after several minutesI caught your eye again,And, with a hint of coyness,I flashed my winning grin. We played this for an hour;I had to wait you out,But you could not resist me;I had you figured out.So now you’re in my pocket;I know the game is won.I’ll ask you to my dwellingTo have a bit of fun,And though I’m being forward,I know that you’ll obligeBecause by now you’ve fallenVictim to my disguise.
So when we storm my front porch,Already tongue-to-tongue,I’ll whisper to remind youThe night has just begun. I knew since I first saw youThat you would sure put out,‘Cause I have got the nostrumThat you can’t live without.I’ve had some girls before you,Who giggled much like you;I knew the game they played, though,Because I play it too.I’ll lift your shirt and kiss youWhile you unzip my fly.I’ll lick you limb-to-torso;You’ll arch your back and cry.When I undo your bra strap,Your heart will hasten pace.You’ll shiver in the blanketAnd touch my shaven face.You’ll say, “My God, who are you?I don’t think that we should ...”I’ll say, “I’m Casanova,And I am just that good.”
I’ll bring you high to climaxThen push you right back down.You’ll beg me not to stop itAnd flash that playful frown.I’ll leave you cold and sweatyAnd begging me for more,And maybe I’ll oblige you, Despite that you’re a whore.Now when I kiss you softly,The sequence of eventsWill make you melt, reluctant,And fill with hot suspense.So when this first date’s over,You’ll want a second, sure,But will I really like you?My motives are too pure.I don’t have time to waste hereWith infidels and sluts.I need to know I love youBefore you make the cut.You’ll call me CasanovaBecause I’m just that good.“Can I come back tomorrow?”I swear I knew you would.
So on our fifth or sixth date,When I am sure you’ll do,I’ll drag you to the kitchenAnd start to batter you.I’ll strangle you with hangersAnd make you scream to stop. I’ll wrap the wire around youUntil your airway pops.And when your fingers graze me,So light, this final time,I’ll stop and smile serenely,Because they’ll feel sublime,And when my club completes you,You draw your final breath,I’ll stagger to my bedroomTo get a hit of meth.Then we’ll walk to the crawl-space,Together after all;I’ll dip my fingers in youAnd paint you on my wall.I’ll think, “Oh, Casanova,This don’t look as it should.I’ll need just nine more loversTo make my mural good.”
So should policemen find youIn twenty years or more,They’ll hardly recognize youBuried beneath the gore. Your head is in the oven,Your hair has clogged the drain.Those golden locks, so lovely,Did prove to be a pain.Bones are buried in the sandIn quite a hefty heap.Skin is sewn upon my own,Forever mine to keep.Your organs long since eaten,Your soul lives on through mine.I lie in bed and touch you;Our fingers intertwine.Your legs inside the armoire,My ring upon your hand,You’ll make it through this, lovely,My favorite five-night-stand.They’ll call me Casanova,And, girl, you know they should.My name will long outlive me,‘Cause I was just that good.

A young boy galloped his way home along the outskirts of his village, as he did every day. As he did every day, he hummed to himself and embraced the glee that accompanied the end of school for the day. A familiar shrill growl greeted him as he turned the corner and approached his home. An old, grey cat let out a soft hiss as the boy strolled past, as he did every day.

"Phtew to you too, Slö!" the boy spat back, not altogether unkindly.

The plump cat's untrusting eyes followed the boy on his route as he passed. Slö's face was pinched in a permanent scowl, and his mangy fur stuck out in clumps. He was missing all but two whiskers on the left side of his face. His tail thumped aggressively upon the thick limb of the tree where he was perched.

Each day after school, the boy bounded gaily past Slö's roost and exchanged a greeting that was simultaneously unpleasant and comforting in its routine predictability.



One evening the boy heard a soft mewling from the tall grass not far from the building where his lessons took place. He wandered over to find a tiny orange cat writhing in the mud. The kitten's fur was clumped and ruffled, and patches were missing to expose small, bloody scratches on his skin.

"What happened to you?" the boy asked, bending forward and scooping up the kitten in his palms.

"I don't know," the kitten mewed. "Something took me..."

"You can talk?" the boy asked, wide-eyed.

"I suppose so..."

The boy took the wounded cat in his arms and hurried off towards his cottage. As the pair passed Slö, his hair ruffled up taller than usual, and he issued a more forceful low growl. Still he did not stand from his lethargic position on his limb.

"What's wrong with him?" the kitten asked.

"Don't worry. He's just a grouch."

The boy got the kitten home and gave him food and water and tended to his wounds. He named the kitten Spela and fell asleep with the tiny ball of fur purring contentedly on his chest. For months the pair strode to and from the boy's school together. Spela waited quietly on the boy's desk as he took his lessons and trotted merrily by his side all the way home.

"Pipe down, Slö!" the pair would call, laughing, in response to the grumpy old cat's hisses as they passed each day.

The boy fashioned a ball of tightly bound cloth, which he would toss around outside his cottage. He laughed and laughed as he watched Spela crouch and wiggle and pounce upon the ball and bring it back each time to be thrown again.

He would run through the tall grass and have Spela chase him until he fell down laughing at the way the cat had to bound high into the air to see him over the blades of grass.

Each day after school, the pair played fetch and tag and hide-and-seek, and each night they fell asleep curled in the boy's warm bed together.



The years passed, and Spela and the boy grew together. Still Spela waited on his boy's desk each day until the two could run outside and race home, cheerfully calling, "Bite your tongue, Slö!" as they passed the old, grey cat in the tree.

Tattered balls of cloth littered the outside of the boy's cottage and the floor of his bedroom. Various hidey-holes made of sticks and straw that the boy had fashioned for Spela were placed around the grass outside. A homemade ladder leaned against the tree outside, so that the boy could chase Spela to the top of it.

The two played and laughed and rolled in the dirt until night fell and they went to bed as usual. On the way to school the next morning, Slö hissed a languid greeting.

"Good morning to you too!" Spela giggled.

When the boy entered his school, he turned to find Spela standing still a few paces behind. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Before the cat could answer, a massive bird of prey swooped down in a blur and snatched him into the air.

"No!" the boy screamed, running after the bird. He caught one horrid look as Spela sagged silently from the beast's talons and looked back at his boy.

He dropped his books and chased the bird deep into the tall grass that surrounded his village. Tears streamed down his face as the bird got farther and farther away with Spela still in his grasp.

At last the bird dropped the cat and disappeared into the clouds. The boy ran to where his friend's body lay and fell to his knees.

"Please be okay," he begged, weeping heavily.

"I think that this is the end..." Spela said weakly, his tiny eyes never opened.

The boy laid a hand on his friend, and the cat winced. "Don't go," he pleaded. "Don't leave me."

"I'm sorry," the cat replied. "I cannot control this."

"Why? Why can't it be old Slö instead! Why you?"

"Do not pity me," Spela said.

"I pity us both," the boy sobbed.

"Pity Slö. I may be leaving now, but I have lived twice as much as he."

"It isn't fair. I want you. No one wants that old wretch."

"Perhaps that is why Slö is as he is," Spela replied. "No one ever taught him to love. No one taught him to play... Or they stopped reminding him somewhere along the way."

"What am I supposed to do now?" the boy wept. "I'll be miserable. Just like Slö."

"Move on," Spela said, opening his brilliant eyes one last time to look at his boy. "Age," he whispered, pushing his head into his friend's hand, "but never forget how to play, and you will never grow old and miserable."

April 24, 2011
            Wow ... I feel like a giddy schoolgirl even writing this down, but going so long without human contact is making me a little stir-crazy. And what else am I supposed to do? It’s not like I have any friends anymore that I can tell about this girl ...            Where do I even start? How can I describe this feeling to a piece of paper? I mean ... I like her. Yeah. That pretty much sums it up. All this love-at-first sight nonsense is bullshit, but you can LIKE someone at first sight, right? Easy. I saw her today ... And I just knew. She had that look ... The only look that could give a 28-year-old loner like me the butterflies. So obviously it was like-at-first-sight. When you see someone, and you immediately start thinking of all the cheesy things you could say to them, a perfect stranger, to make them laugh and break the ice, all the ways you could throw all your cares and obligations and worries to the wind and just say, “Let’s go grab a bite to eat.” ... It’s pretty obvious that you like them. Either that, or you’re really horny. And considering how long it’s been since I got laid, I guess that’s a definite possibility, but I grew out of that shit years ago. I just really, REALLY like her.            Damn. I’m writing this furiously fast; my hand already hurts, but my mind is still racing faster than my heart, which, notably, hasn’t slowed since I saw her from the window.            But then I recognized her ... Alisha Perkins ... I remember her all the way back from middle school ... I guess she developed fast, so she was pretty popular around school, especially with the guys. But why the hell would she have any interest in me? She didn’t then, she wouldn’t now. I need to just get this shit out of my system and get back to work. But that’s just the thing! I can’t concentrate on my work when I’m glancing out the window every five minutes trying to catch a glimpse of her wandering around the neighborhood. She probably doesn’t even know this is my house. She can’t know! She probably wouldn’t even remember me if she saw me ... But it’s a crazy world these days ... You never know.            Even still, what could a girl like Alisha possibly want with someone like me? A scrawny little nerd who realized far too late in his shitty life that keeping his nose buried in the books wasn’t getting him anywhere he wanted to be. I dropped out of the medical school I had tried so hard for so long to get into. And not because I couldn’t handle it, either, I had top grades! I just realized one day that I didn’t want to be stuck in this scholastic Hell anymore. I traded my life-long dream for a fucking shitty biotech job that I hated and a life of belligerent drinking and rambunctious partying. Now look where it got me. Locked away in this empty house crying on the shoulder of an apathetic piece of paper.            Oh well ... Not like I would’ve been any better off if I’d stayed.            This is becoming self-loathing. Thanks for listening.

April 25, 2011
            SHE CAME BACK!            I had yet another miserable, lonely, sleepless night last night, and when I woke up in the late morning, she was outside my house again! It’s like she was waiting for me ... But how could she even know where I live? I don’t even know if she recognizes me. Maybe she just saw me over here one day ... She probably doesn’t recognize me. There’s no way! But maybe she liked what she saw. Won’t she be in for a surprise when she finds out who I am! She’ll probably lose interest altogether! Haha! The sound of my own laughter is amazing me right now! I am filling this empty, desolate home with laughter! Oh, do you know how long it’s been since I laughed? Since I genuinely chuckled or even smiled? I’m absolutely gushing over here. Every emotion that I’ve been unable to experience for the past God-knows-how-many weeks is pouring out of me right now! I can’t sit still or even keep a coherent string of thoughts in my new stupid journal!
            4:58 PM
            Well apparently I had a psychotic break earlier. I can’t even read that without getting a knot in my stomach. I know stuff like that isn’t important anymore. Maybe it never was. It’s good that I’m finally keeping a journal in times like these, though. But I need to write something of substance in it. I’ve been squirming around my living room all day, cycling through phases of trying to focus on my work and then staring intently out the window watching for any movement, hoping ...            It just doesn’t make any sense. I simply cannot believe that she would want to see me ... But there she was. And the look on her face was hard to ignore. But I’m just too pathetic.            This beautiful, flawless woman from the days of my youth is literally standing longingly outside my house like a crazy woman. But I’m the crazy one! I can’t even bring myself to open the door and talk to her. Can’t even bring myself to let her inside, to rescue her from the insane, deadly world that it is out there. But I guess you could say I’ve developed some pretty serious agoraphobia of late ... In fact, I feel like my mind is completely tearing apart from the inside out. I’ll never finish my work if I keep up like this ...            And yet the the sun’s reflection off her eyes from the end of my drive makes everything else seem utterly insignificant. Maybe I’ll see her again tomorrow ...

April 26, 2011
            5:17 AM
            Another sleepless night spent thrashing about in my sweat-soaked sheets ... My anxiety levels are through the roof, and my hopes are probably even higher. I spent most of the night irrationally getting out of bed to check the window. I’m actually deluded enough to believe this girl could show up desperately at my house in the dead of night and plead with me to let her come in, confess to me that she too has been miserable and lonely and secluded these past several weeks ... But that’s the kind of useless thinking only desperate infatuation can incite.            What besides terrible dementia would make a grown woman stand longingly outside the house of a stranger? She can’t possibly know that I’m in here. No one can. That’s the whole reason I’ve been able to STAY here undisturbed all this time ...            On that note, my research has come to an almost complete stand-still these past two days. I’ve almost entirely lost interest in my legacy. My destiny.
            11:29 AM                       Just like clockwork, she showed up outside my window not two hours after sunrise! And just like clockwork my attention disorder went from debilitating to absolutely paralyzing. Pacing around the living room and staring out the window, waiting and hoping that she really DOES have some sort of agenda with me, that she really WILL show up here yet again ... It makes it all but impossible to focus on my work.            Have I really lost touch with reality to this extent? To give up on what could almost definitely be the most important endeavor of my short life so whimsically? ... It must say something about my mental health. And don’t think for a second I haven’t considered the possibility that my overtaxed, dried out, crumbling excuse for a brain hasn’t just hallucinated this whole thing ...            I’ve considered killing this project the way only a desperate, angst-filled teenager can consider suicide after his first breakup. What’s the use in living like this, anyway? Won’t everything just be that much simpler when it’s dead and gone? And all on some insane notion of love based upon the fact that this strange, beautiful, magnificent woman approaches my house alone each day! In my prime I would have killed for a lone woman to approach me and give me the chance to make a move ... But things have changed now.            Should my memoirs be found in the not-so-near future, what will they say about me? That the bulk of my notes and observations are here, on this plain printer paper, detailing my obsessions with a stranger who stares awkwardly in my direction each morning, that this account which may some day chronicle my entire existence―ALL our existences―takes place not in a notebook of equations and formulas and observations, but in a stack of disheveled loose-leaf paper scrawled upon in frantic, girly handwriting ... The notion is morbid and somehow laughable.            And yet ... I can’t stop glancing in her direction.
            7:02 PM
            Well, the day is gone, the overhead lights no longer function, and, yet again, no progress has been made. I wasted the entire day staring strangely out the window, watching the poor girl wander hopelessly through my lawn. But I never once could consider opening the door and confronting her. Oh, sure, I fantasized all the billions of heroic, romantic, witty things I could say, all the quirky, lovely interactions that could follow my simply opening the door and letting her in, but that doesn’t mean I really considered DOING it. What if she thinks it’s someone else’s home? In times like these, at my most lonesome and vulnerable, I cannot fathom the long-term humiliation and mental trauma that could follow an exchange like that in my current state. Best to just stick here in my fantasies and leave everyone else out of them ...            If only I could balance those fantasies with productivity ...

April 27, 2011
            I’ve moved the couch over by the window so that I can sit and stare at her for hours at a time ... Does that mean I’m in love? Or is it something worse ...             Love. What the fuck do I know about love? What the fuck did anyone know about love? Love goes against every law of nature, rationality, and physics. We shouldn’t be falling in love again and again. We should be out finding food, digging holes, and competing to fuck every member of the opposite sex that we stumble across so our species can flourish and become even more out-of-control than it already is. That’s what animals do. And we are, after all, animals. Feral, barbarous, unruly animals. Why else would I come to be locked away in here? A prisoner against my own love for a fucking stranger. My heart defies every brain cell I have left. They’re my two most vital organs, and they’re tearing each other to shreds.            How much longer must I be forced to sit in here and helplessly watch as the unlikely love of my life strolls up to my drive each morning to look for me? How much longer will I be forced to mediate between my hungry heart and my stubborn brain? Not much longer, I can tell you that. This terrible tug-of-war is wreaking havoc on what’s left of my life, and soon something’s got to give. I can no longer think about my work or even eat without going to the window every couple minutes. I get out of bed ten, sometimes twenty times, in the dead of night to see if she’s still here, even though I know she won’t be. It’s a terrible, uncontrollable compulsion. I know it’s unhealthy, I know it’s driving me mad, but, God, it feels so good when I finally come to the window again and she’s there. Seeing her irresistible face after checking a hundred or even two-hundred times over the night ... It stimulates the pleasure centers of my brain the way seeing a text-message from a new crush would. And that’s more than I can say for anything in my life for as long as I can remember now ... It’s getting harder to remember anything at all before Alisha showed up ...            I no longer have any doubts that she is searching for me. Deep down she must know I’m in here, and, just as my uncontrollable desire to look upon her draws me to the window on a minute-to-minute basis, her will to find me is so powerful that it draws her daily to my yard. It’s reached a point where I truly don’t care anymore. If opening that front door means the end of my research or even the end of my life, so be it. Any outcome is preferable to this neurological dissonance. Just so long as she’s a part of it ...            But what if she can’t be trusted after all? What if I’m wrong to disregard my doubts? What if she’s unsafe? Then again, what if I am her only hope of refuge? Wouldn’t that be a treat! To share the company of Alisha Perkins for the rest of our lives ... But after all I’ve witnessed, all I’ve been though, all I’ve done to get myself where I am today ... I find it nearly impossible to risk unbolting this damn door. To do so could be suicide ...            Of course, there’s still the very real possibility that she’s out of my league. See? I can’t make up my mind about any of this. I can literally feel my brain deteriorating ... The way everyone else’s brain has. I can FEEL myself developing mental illness, and somehow I think that’s worse than unwittingly developing one ...            But girls like Alisha are apt to say, “I wouldn’t give you a chance if you were the last guy on Earth!” ... Maybe if she comes back tomorrow I’ll see if that’s still true.

April 28, 2011
            I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to talk to her today. She could be my last chance at happiness, my last chance at salvation ... And I could be hers.            Frankly I’m disappointed in myself that it’s taken me this long to decide to do this. She must be alone and dying out there. I like to think that her unyielding obsession with me is driving her to come here every day, to forfeit food and shelter and safety and just stand out in the open out there waiting for me to come to her. She’ll embrace death if she can’t embrace me. Honestly I’m probably just projecting. But I can think of no other explanation. For two humans in a world as dangerous as this to stare longingly at each other all day, separated by a pane of glass and mere meters ... I must be crazy already.            I can’t even recall the most fundamental aspects of my research. I can no longer think of the most key features of this project that once may have saved what’s left of humanity. I know I’m letting down my entire species, but I feel no shame or remorse or sense of duty or purpose at all anymore. I’m just overwhelmed by her presence, and all I can think about are all the reasons I should have let her in already.
            11:56 AM
            I can’t do it. I stood at the door just staring out the small glass panel at her for nearly an hour, hardly moving, hardly thinking. Finally, when I started to feel faint and my legs gave out, I realized that I didn’t have the will-power to open the door.            There is nothing left on this earth but her, for all I know. There is nothing left in my brain but her. Our love could literally be the sole coherent notion left on the planet, and all I have to do is let her in ...            But at a time when the undead roam the streets and scavenge the forests, it’s almost impossible to do something that used to be as simple as opening the front door ...

April 29, 2011
            6:22 AM
            I’m doing it. I’m going out. I finally have enough sunlight to write by, and I’ve been up all night psyching myself out for this. When she arrives here again, probably as usual just around 8:00, I’m going to open the door. I’ve already removed half the dead-bolts so that I don’t have as much time to hesitate when she’s finally there staring at me ...
            12:10 PM                       I can’t fucking do it! I stood at the door yet again until I lost track of time ... Then I finally opened it, and when she looked at me standing there with those terrible, beautiful relieved eyes and that sickening, desperate smile, I lost all nerve. I soiled myself.            I haven’t seen a human in I don’t even know how many weeks now, and the last time I did, I watched as three-quarters of his trachea was violently pulled from a gaping hole in his throat and then swallowed like calamari by a corpse. I watched as his lifeless body stood back up as if nothing had happened, and his diaphragm must have relaxed, because at that moment his blood-filled lungs, probably both squeezed unnaturally together at the mediastinum, expelled what seemed like gallons of black, thickening blood through his nonexistent neck. I’ll never forget that sound, that image ... Even the smell. Like the jets turning on in a death- and pus-filled jacuzzi for the first time in centuries. And with half his postural neck muscles gnawed through and ripped to shreds, his head lolled backward on the barely intact spine until I could no longer see the skull at all from where I stood directly in front of him. I couldn’t help thinking that this must have caused him great discomfort, but that did not stop him as he joined his former assailant in approaching my paralyzed figure ...            I think maybe I can go to sleep now ...

April 30, 2011
            I was able to sleep through most of the night finally ... But I awoke numerous times covered in sweat and tears and piss and whatever else. The lucidity of my nightmares was unfathomable, and, for last night, I hope I never sleep soundly again.            I awoke to the choked sounds of my own sobs and desperate calls for Alisha to hold me. And when I ran to the window before sun-up, she wasn’t there. Of course she’s never here when it’s dark, but that didn’t stop me from holding the single bullet that I’ve saved all this time, squeezing it and sobbing until my shaking fist started to bleed and I fell back asleep in the floor ...            I’m certain I can no longer do this alone ... Today I may be saving two lives.
            8:22 AM
            She’s here. I’m going out. God be with me.
            5:45 PM
            Pathetic. I’m a fucking useless pathetic waste of a survivor. I’ve abandoned her again. And all that I can do is sit in here alone and cry and feel sorry for MYSELF. Because I’m so fucked in the head. I’m so far gone that I can’t even face a fellow human being and offer my help, my resources. I can’t even do that for the one I love ...            She’s far skinnier than I had thought. But that detracts absolutely nothing from her stunning beauty. Set against a backdrop of apocalyptic death, destruction, horror, and nightmare, her tiny, withering, beautiful figure could never be more visually stunning. She ran to me as soon as I stepped out, and of course I could think of nothing to say. I just stood there stupidly as she stumbled forward and seized my arm, probably so overwhelmed with gratitude and relief that she could think of nothing to say either. She just stared into my eyes with her own sultry sunken set and smiled that winning smile that showed half of her gleaming teeth, which have managed to remain as pearly as ever throughout this whole ordeal. She looked at me with what could have been a mixture of any number of hundreds of emotions. Hope. Love. Relief. Longing.            But did I follow my heart and sweep her weightless body into my arms? Did I press my stubbly half-beard against her milky smooth face and let our tongues express the things that ears could never process? Did I rush her back inside and make the most glorious love of our lives right here on this very couch, rejoicing in finally being free and safe and, most of all, together for the rest of our short lives? No. I stood there like a mongoloid while she squeezed my arm with a superhuman strength that could be a product only of terror, love, and desperate anxiety. We stood that way, me just staring into her hauntingly lovely eyes, until I finally broke. I cried, and the only words I could think to say to her were, “I’m sorry.” I wept and just repeated I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry until her desperate grip began to draw blood and I had to push her away. I screamed it then! I’M SORRY! I’M SO FUCKING USELESS AND SORRY! I can’t help you Alisha. I’m lost and confused. I pushed her away and turned and ran back inside. I’m so sorry, Alisha ...
            6:51 PM
            I’ve sat here throughout the day, and one would think my body would run out of fluid, but the tears just keep coming. I don’t even know who I’m crying for anymore. Myself. My love. Or maybe all the billions of people who left this realm in the blink of an eye. I stare at the blood trickling out of four puncture wounds on my arm, and I cannot even bring myself to wipe it clean. I deserve to let it bleed. I hope it never clots and I just bleed out and fade away. And with my dying breath, I’ll unlock the door for my love. Something I cannot bring myself to do in life. Maybe I can find the courage in death.            What if she’s given up on me? I couldn’t even bring myself to look out the window at her anymore. She just approached the door and stood with one hand on the glass for God only knows how long. What if she never comes back? What if I ruined my only chance?            These wounds aren’t near deep enough to bleed me out ... Good thing I saved this bullet ...
May 1, 2011
            3:27 AM                       I can’t sleep. Not surprisingly. What is surprising is that I can see tonight. I guess my eyes are adjusting after staying awake all night. For an instant I was ecstatic when I thought some sort of light source had been turned on outside ... But it’s still as dark as ever.            My arm hurts too. It hurts to write, and it’s turning black around the wounds. They must be infected. I’m not surprised. Her nails must have been filthy ... I hope she comes back today. My stomach has growled all night, but I can’t remember the last time I had a true appetite, and I can’t help thinking that seeing her that close, touching her, helped boost my libido for the first time in months.            I can’t shake the feeling it isn’t really food I’m hungry for ...
            3:13 PM                       I guess she didn’t give up after all.            I watched her for over two hours this morning. And finally I made up my mind. I went outside with almost no fear at all and grabbed her without saying a word and sucked her face like a horny 16 yr old. I think I split both our lips in a couple places and I definitely shocked her into shocked silence. But when I turned away like a real dude and told her to come in she just stood and stared. Almost looked indifferent.            I hope I didnt give her the wrong idea ... I felt her tongue in my mouth and she definitely wasn’t resisting. When I approached she looked eager but after it was over she just seemed ... like apathetic. I didn’t want to seem too desperate so I just let her be. She kept standing there though for the rest of the day. I hope I didn’t push my luck but she’s so damn irresistible. I guess I’ll know if she comes back tomorrow ...            This is actually starting to be kind of fun ...
            May 2, 2011
            1:54 AM
            I am starving. I cant sleep I’m so hungry. And burning up too.
            3:12 AM
            Raging hardon right now. I cant sleep. I think of how the skin of her lips is decaying and drawn back a little more on the right side. Adorable crooked smile there permanently. I love you Alisha.
            ...
            alisha i love you            I called you all nite you cant hear me?
            ...
            it raining today. if i see u in the wind i hope yur litle legs not get blow away. let grab a bite to eat n see a movie in dry
            ...
            my lov is hear we can get food a bite to eat n walk around town i hop u let i swere i hold ur hand 4evr            alisha lov u 2 death

Should I fall from a ledge, may it be from on highSo I tumble and twirl as I cut through the sky.May my vessels dilate and my heart rate increaseAnd my norepinephrine release never cease.When my pupils enlarge so I see with great clarityThe encroaching earth, an observational rarity,I will be well aware what I’ve done to myself,Still a young man of respective good health.So why’d I subject my own self to this flight,Its inevitable end and ephem’ral delight?Does even an addict in the clutches of jonesGo so far as this just to get himself stoned?Does still he partake, knowing well the effects?Does he garnish the noose to tie ‘round his own neck?Well I’ll fall for a bit, hoping never to land,With no obligations, impulsive, unplanned,And I won’t have a care, not a worry or woe.But how will it end? Well, we already know.
If we have just one day, may it be on the longest,The solstice of summer when Sun’s rays are strongest,And the hours that pass, like the clouds rushing by,Are each slightly longer like we’re falling from high.May we fumble and flail with the words that we shareBut still both understand and still smile and not care.May our hearts pound in sync with our naivetéAnd our minds meld with ease with no burdens to weigh.When my eyes open wide, so I take in the scene,I’ll know no future or past, only this, in between.We’ll be feeling so high when we lie hand in hand;We’ll both secretly wish we’d just fall and not land,For we’ll fall for each other, and, both falling in sync,We’ll have what seems like moments, not a chance to re-think,So we’ll cling to each other, lock our lips in the windWith no time for much else as we quickly descend,And, us both in free-fall, there’ll be no one belowWho could catch us or save us or make our fall slow.
So if you wonder why it was simple to leap without needing a shove,It’s because infatuation’s more unconditional than true love,And when you finally hit bottom and forget all that passed you above,You’ll find that falling was far less painful than landing in love.