I'll be one tough act to follow.

It's hard to find the ease in things, when beauty sheds and sheds. Help a foreign word, by choice or just habit. What I hear and what's tried is smoke, but enough becomes enough all too soon and the skies have turned sticky and warm. I can't cool them off. So moving on, and on. All feels well, to the skin. Confort flows from places unexpected, gentle hands seep through. Unknowing, as they are all the more aid is found and my footsteps not so heavy on the ground.

The Tenderness of My Stale Nights.

Steady, Now Settle.

When I was a little girl I'd ask my Mom to sing to me, but she never really would. She'd say "No, Mommy can't sing pretty." But she would, sometimes. If she was in a really good mood, she'd sing and it was always so soothing. Some nights I still want her to sing to me.

And She's my friend, of all friends.
She is still here, when everyone's gone.
She doesnt have to say a thing.
We'll just keep laughing all night long.
All night long.

The Beauty Of Your Bones.

My days are heavy and my nights a blur. Emotions knocking on every door hanging by it's rusted hinges in my head, and I can't stand creeking much. But days go and go and go and I've spent hours sleeping, hoping that's enough. I've spent hours dreading waking up. But oh baby, the days I've spent wrapped in yellow with you.
I can't see tomorrow, I can't hold the sand.
But every now and then I still cup my hands.