i’m all there right now
but then, we’re all here right now
this is how i feel.
i’m tired of seeing you in my dreams
you have to stop coming by
and waking me up at 4 a.m.
for no reason at all
or just cause
you heard an old song that made you think
it should have been all right
last call, last dance at 2 a.m.
for no reason at all
or just cause
you need a lift
ass, gas, or grass
no one rides for free
but you know how it goes
you made the rules of play
and you remake them
stretching out messy meetings
while missing out on all of the things
that matter more than anything
sensational and flattering
we’re meeting where? i’m sketching, fetching
what i am to you and what you want me to
it matters more than anything
to you and i alike
and you and i alike are like
sketching out bloody beatings
a miss is as good as a mile, i guess
and your guess is as good as mine
waking up daily in a mental prison of sorts
no exercise, just one long stretch
i do this to myself, i know
i do this because it’s what i know to do
play it over and backwards, too
fell down once really hard
now i can’t talk and my hand shakes violently
and my world is spinning
are you mad at me, God?
have i offended thee? too many questions
and not enough faith?
my energies lie in muddy quarters, though…
i have not forgotten the face of my father
worldly or otherwise
a request without disguise
a prayer, to heal my broken ties,
my seizure hands, my vertigo eyes
spoken words, my plea, my praise
deal me in, i’ll call, you raise
i get dizzy and i crave things. human?
big questions. big noise. slayer.
it’s cold outside, but i’m outside. in a robe and slippers.
feeling like a monk who failed Christ.
should have worn sneakers.
all out of fight. screaming it out on paper.
pulling hair. cutting teeth.
looking for something underneath.
losing friends, finding grief.
but i’ll always have my bestest friend
and she’ll always have me
Alyse Rose, you’ll always have me.
fuck, it’s cold.
Jaeger beckons, as does sleep
zero to R.E.M. in 20 minutes…
chewing up klonopins like lucky charms
should not become a pastime or a habit. silly rabbit.
doctors, me lady, maladies, all too common lately
an hour just passed in like 15 minutes
goddamn shakes, skills impeded
thinking too fast, brakes are needed
pretending to be something i’m not without trying
i mean i don’t even know what i’m doing anymore. almost never.
still, i drag it all out to dramatic ends
depends who’s listening.
i’m not listening to my heart whispering
begging me to take control
we’re all just shark bait, no?
just talking, just keep talking
think about all of the wrong things and just
keep on talking
about things that i should and could do
things that would help me feel the way i want to
sex is not dangerous unless you have acute angina
there’s a joke in there somewhere
or if you’re some kind of obtuse rapist
think about it.
i used to feel o.k. everyday.
i used to play guitar to express feeling.
i used to use heroin to escape reality.
i used to say: “i’ll never have a pet again. they die.”
i used to say i think i can.
i used to cry for people i loved.
i used to love myself.
i used up a lot of chances and wishes on bullshit.
i spent more time in jail than i care to admit.
i used to write poetry every fucking day.
i was the oldest young man for so long i forgot to be young, now i’m just old. or i just feel that way.
i used to feel alive and dead at the same time.
i used to have long hair. really long hair.
i think i was healthier, too.
i want to be a lot of what i used to be without going back to hell, without the heroin, and without the doubt.
i want you to want me and my fucked up feelings.
i want to stop shoplifting. i try, but i can’t. i resent the fact that things cost money.
i want to stop working.
i used to have plans to escape work.
i used to follow through with my plans.
i used to smoke cigarettes, but i quit doing that.
i used to spend a lot of time with Hale, but Hale disappeared.
i miss you Hale, you brilliant fucking lunatic.