I gave up but
I am still alive
and life is full
of surprises

I came here with a bag of tricks
a storybook, a missing piece
and traded them for memories
the silence underneath the lake

so I have lived another year
and that means just as much
as picking up a handful of earth
and blowing it to dust

I am only waiting
for the light to go on
or for the earth under my feet
to open up

tomorrow I will borrow
my father’s car
and fill it with the things
I haven’t lost so far

little mice
your little lungs
your little eyes
your little ears
all destroyed in one blow
because of my fear

new typewriter
I’m a writer
of books of histories
of all the things that might happen
one day, in our dreams

new typewriter,
I’m a writer
of nonsense verse
and when I try to
clean it up
it only gets worse

new typewriter
I’m a writer
of histories
of all the things
we’ve stood before
but didn’t see

dinner is cooking
I am looking
in the mirror
surprised the way I always am
to find the same girl there

I can hear my friends talking
in the next room
I don’t wish I was with them
but I don’t want them  to go

so take the fears
the wasted years
and grind them down
to diamond dust
that you can use
to keep the
frying pans scoured

come for dinner
but don’t think you
know who I am
because one of my
loose-lipped friends
told you something
that I said

Christine gave me a bracelet
from her own wrist
to give me power
against the Sith

maybe I’m not ready
to go back out
but the sun keeps falling
down, down, down

maybe it took me all week
to remember how to sleep
but if you haven’t killed me
I am still a dangerous enemy