I have this need to write
its not like I'm any good at it and it really doesn't matter if I am or not for that has nothing to do with my need, Its like a mood or some where to fall or some where to stand.

The house is made of cloth
The beast
The man  made from mud and sticks
The woman is small 
Trying to be smaller
The stars turn
 float on their backs
Bathe in the sunshine 
I surface
Covered in blame
Etched on my heart
Written in my name
The devil is laughing
He's lit all the saints with fire
Jesus shrugs he don't mind
Jesus loves the sinner
The face of the ghost seeps thru onto the cracked paint
and say's we're just two lonely soul's on our way home
I reply you must have a friend
He say's there is just you and I
I can out wait the truth I can out wait the pain
but when I move the world comes rushing at me
When I stand still the world seperates and fades
My thoughts won't flow
What am I doing here, What am I doing there