My pillow is warmer on the other side,

And the the grass in the west is dying

But when a blind date

Means closing my eyes

And I realized that true poetry

Is never about the title,

I flipped over the lawn

To see if it was cool

And poured food coloring

All over the down.

I kept the lights on through the night

And eliminated the shadow

Of Peter.

So that I would never

Be reminded of how

The second star to the right

Failed to lead me to Neverland.

Instead I ended up

In a swarm of flies

With nothing but a dishtowel.

The song was never about

Butterflies dying.

It was only there

To mock my every breath,

Tempt me with it's pretenses

And to pretend to smile.

And on December 20

All my little notes that said

"You're Beautiful"

Are flaking off the mirror.

And they fall through

The floor.

Into the molten below.

I, being so desperate

Jumped in after them

But landed on an

Out of tune piano.

And all I heard for

The rest of eternity

Was the oriental music

Of the always black keys.