20. Rebecca Verse 3

I see the ocean with you The sweat of the pine trees
stings  with crystalline saltwater and The Wind
so strong closer to the edge more salt to curl your hair
sometimes feelings seldom differ Flowers try to grow
Try to bloom on my right The fog decieves the forsaken
In Peace I Lust

19. Writing

a cat watched the moon
visiral swirls playing with the curls
of his tail
a question was asked
the moment regressed
and they moved across the sky flying towards
some circus in the stars

18. Rebecca Verse 1

I draw my smoke evenly standing on the edge of obsidian night
Lay witness cruel games of devils and angels
they lay in waste and blueprint tomorrow
Broadband colors push through chakras
complexion dry weary flushed face red blood circulating
its around 6:30 I draw my smoke evenly
seems I've waiting here for ages
finally there is an arrival

Scene Change

End of Act 1

silence ensues.

17. Lament Verse V Exerpt

I’ll write music with my pen as long as those silent grey features still remain suspended in space with glory hidden to even the most vigilant. It’s unexplainable. This kills me like how I once bled my teenage angst then donned a patchwork robe of denim and cordoroy experiences that stitch my love hurt breathing dying thinking that no one showed me the fine print or clause at the end of the contract when I signed on for this life. Now I know no one needed to. This life is beautiful.  Its filled with furry cats sun unknown stoops trees and window sills that borders family and caring. It is also filled with three headed beasts pain humility gutters and darkness. Now I see, or I see for now. What I see for now is clearer than prior. This is our only shot for this time. It doesn’t matter how you live as much as why you live. Once you really live you never die. You can cheat death as ends are beginnings. I tip my hat in deep regard of friendship beyond therapy. I stare at the sun with burnt eyes feel the lament and ritual of being.

16. Lament Verse IV Exerpt

When something ends it means that something once began. My beginnings are loose threads of colored twine waiting for the telephone operator connection. Stuck in the waiting room with two doors