Jealousy, turning saints into the sea
Turning through sick lullabies
Choking on your alibis
But it’s just the price I pay
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
‘Cause I’m Mr. Brightside

Together we wander,
You and me,
Down the dim lit streets
Of a bustling midnight city
In a circuitous pattern
With no final planned destination;
Transcending time while sorting through my tenuous memories

I see the lovers holding hands,
And laughing to each other
About some secret conversation
Known only to them.

At the sight of this exchange
There is only one thought
Which I quickly wish to diminish,
Such as the sand slipping
Through an hourglass
As it sits almost glued to the table.

This thought of a friend and me
Walking as these lovers do,
A thought which I know all to well
Has no chance of ever becoming reality.

Why you ask?
For this is only a dream

But a dreamer must dream;
For it is the only state
In which this thought can live.

As we continue on the dark dreary streets,
I see a bench, an empty bench,
In a park alone near the street.

At the sight of this park and its singular bench
A memory drifted to me,
Such as illness through a plague-stricken village.

This memory paints an image
Of this friend and me,
Simply enjoying each other’s company.
A chuckle, a whisper, then a smile
Then with a rattling passing of city bus
The memory fades into distant history.

As I continued walking along this dingy sidewalk
My mind drifted like a gossamer soul towards the afterlife.
This time by a singular glowing store window
Filled with the colorful and shimmering glass bottles,
Of the department store perfumes and colognes

It is not all of these bottles however that bring him to mind
It is the one, square, bottle wrapped in the glimmering gold paper,
For this is the scent that always bring me back.

I glare into the window and simply dream,
Like Holly Golightly did at Tiffany’s
I wish and I ponder the possibilities
Then quickly snap at the thought of what could be
Like a frog’s tongue snapping after catching its prey.

Should I tell him?
What could it do?
Could it damage what’s been done?
Or could it help it start anew?

Have you ever had a secret?
That you couldn’t tell anybody
For the fear of what they would think
Because of the cautious circumstances.



The possibilities entangled in my mind
Like the roots of a family tree,
An Escher drawing in its most complex form
There is no up or down,
Or wrong or right,
Only what you interpret;
What you see in this mess

Then I see him walking by,
I fake a smile so he won’t see
The pain that overtakes me,
Like a boa constrictor suffocating its prey
Wishing there was a way for someone to commiserate;
If only I could tell them

This thought of a friend and me,
Walking as these lovers do,
A thought which I know all to well
Has no chance of ever becoming reality;
For as I walked down this dingy street
She passes
And runs into his arms