Beautiful Lie

When we start questioning other people’s motives are we not just reacting to our own feelings? People do what they do to bring themselves happiness – be it temporary or long term. They do what they think is best. But don’t we all deserve to be a little selfish sometimes?
Sometimes I wonder what the inside of your mind must look like. Why do you do the things you do? And why do they matter to me? You challenge me, that’s why. You make me sit up and take notice. You’re like the teacher I am silently admiring from the back of the class.
My mind was chained down by doubt until you found all of my indiscretions and laid them out before me. I have a problem with ghosts; they’re all living in my head. I think we all have ghosts inside us, it’s when we let them out that it becomes a problem.
You’re just looking for new subjects – new muses. And I’m just looking for something that can facilitate this heart.
We are writing different stories, different pages, different lives.
Sometimes what we say and what we mean are completely different things.
Sometimes, it’s all just a beautiful lie.



When the words escaped from my mouth I didn’t believe them either.
There’s a reason behind everything,
A truth behind the lie.
We all do the best we can,
Not knowing what lies ahead.
“I’m fine,” she said..
But her eyes told a story that her mouth could not.
Tugging on my drawstrings, you mistook them for heartstrings.
Just as the breath was drawn,
I swallowed it whole.
Just when the words escaped,
I wanted them back.
I took a page from the book of logic,
But I should have buried it with my regret.
To be seen.



maybe we are all
destined to be stories
penned from heartache
the subject; affection
the content; desired
the ending; unavoidable
the signature –

Wide Open Spaces

I sit quietly in my truck at night, the only soul around for miles.
I’m transfixed by the way the moon lights up the snow – it’s as if that was the only job the moon ever had, to make the snow sparkle. And she does it so well.
I’m awakened by the smell of the trees, their fresh green essence creeping into the chambers of my nose and sitting there with the memories of Christmas’ past.
Those nights we’d go driving. We’d go until we ran out of gas.
We’d scour every street, every scene repeating three or four times.
And we’d laugh.
Oh we’d laugh at the tiniest things.
Someone sneezing in oncoming traffic, someone slipping into a pirouette on ice and quickly composing themselves.
Yes, we saw that.
We’d buy cookies and hot chocolate and find the highest peak at the darkest spot in town and we’d marvel at the bountiful spread the night sky had placed for us.

I sit quietly in my truck at night, sometimes I’m the only one for miles.
I sip my hot chocolate and eat my cookies, and I rest my hand on the passenger seat.
While we no longer find love in each other, I will always find love in your memory.