Open up the wounds
let the heartache flow again
watch me turn to my addictions
and let temptation be my guide
I’ll quell the pain with thoughts of lust
drown the tears in temporary joys
as I’m tripping up the stairs of life
falling on every step I climb
It’s a blind charge through endless repetition
running into doors I’ve closed
with a history of lies
I can’t do the things I love anymore
I only love one thing now
and it calls to me
at times like these
like a lover lost in the night
it finds me with open arms
and pulls me aside
Am I strong enough to win this fight?
Can I do this all again?
As my strength cracks and breaks
I see how I’ve lied to myself
about the twisted merry-go-round I’m riding
and how long I can hold on
before I’m hurled aside for good
Because even though there’s determination
lurking within my eyes
I can still feel myself fading
disappearing within my mind
There is no exit from this place
There is no victory to be found
Just another day of trials
another day to watch myself grow weak
It’s just my fate
and the cross I bear
watching life turn around
spinning with the hands of the clock
opening up everything that was old
memories I tried to forget
become new again
and I’m sliding
as I’m racing to the end
holding on as strong
as my shattered will allows
waiting until I finally slip
and drift into nothingness
losing myself for good
and forever ending
this senseless repetition
When the photographs of American soldiers abusing Iraqi prisoners came out, I wasn’t shocked. I was heartbroken, sad and even a bit bitter, but not shocked. Simply put, I understood going into this war that these types of things happen in war and that, no matter how many conventions you hold, no matter how much you try to civilize war or how much you try to humanize the enemy, war, fundamentally, is a brutal struggle that invariably brings out the worst in mankind.
I come from a long line of teachers. Both of my parents are currently teachers, at least part time, one of my grandmothers and both of my aunts were teachers until they retired and my family tree, on both sides, is littered with teachers of all varieties as far back as I can trace them.
Sometimes I think of you
and wonder where you are
and if you think of me on lonely nights
or dream about me when there’s nothing left to dream
I don’t expect you to miss me
and I know the phone will never ring
with your voice hanging on the other line
but I have to know
if I’m in your thoughts
or if you forgot about me
like you promised you never would
I can’t bear the thought
of what we shared
being nothing than a footnote
in a forgotten chapter of your life
and even though I only think of you
during the loneliest hours of the night
Part of me is still hoping
that you’re thinking of me
when I’m busy not thinking of you
So shed not a tear for what we lost
nor heave a sigh for what could have been
Just let me grace your thoughts
when the night hangs long and low
and everything will be right when we awake
in the worlds we’ve created
in the many years we’ve been apart
