Merry Christmas, Madeline...
You’ve mercy-killed my every lie.
And mercy me, I find that I believed them more than you did.
Take me back to the last time snow fell; I fell,
no tell of the hell I feigned…
completely my construction, contorted but coaxing no call for my conscience to croon condemnations to a craving, eager crowd.
They say guilty.
Realizing my devising on this airplane Christmas day, I weigh every word we decided to say (in frustration, in anger, in remorse, in confusion). It would appear the universe does not revolve around me, though I am still doubtful.
I am, after all, invincible
ignoring addiction
ignoring depression
ignoring fault
ignoring death
denying the days when
I am my own worst enemy. When I cannot claim immortality.
And as the ever increasing turbulence shakes my hand, I trade my pen for prayers that the plane lands soon.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
train of thought 1/2/08
I am standing on the edge of a cliff.
Blue wind rushes into my eardrums fast enough to flood
my train of thought
and drown most rational passengers still left inside.
I suppose the few scattered survivors are the ones responsible for this oddly objective
voiceover, but even those poor, huddled, hypothetical masses
can’t find the sense to tell me to
Back away from the ledge.
There’s enough empty blue sky between
my precipice and the sun-drenched valley below
To remind me that heights settle in my stomach
with all the ease of a Drano martini.
And yet I don’t move.
There’s enough cluttered mileage between
my feet and the mountain-heavy horizon
to remind me how far I’ve come from everything I know.
Did I really run from the cold reality of home,
my snow-covered car still spewing death to an overcast heaven?
Did I really just climb so desperately toward that same ceiling of air?
Could I not realize that this coat of blue paint over gray would look down
with the same disapproving eyes? Have I come to this cliff for a reason, reason itself, or the chance to forsake the lot of it on the desert floor?
i need a reason
and I think that if I can just back away,
the wind will slow
the train will dry
and the survivors might yet repair the damage.
Or at least throw down a new coat of paint.
Blue wind rushes into my eardrums fast enough to flood
my train of thought
and drown most rational passengers still left inside.
I suppose the few scattered survivors are the ones responsible for this oddly objective
voiceover, but even those poor, huddled, hypothetical masses
can’t find the sense to tell me to
Back away from the ledge.
There’s enough empty blue sky between
my precipice and the sun-drenched valley below
To remind me that heights settle in my stomach
with all the ease of a Drano martini.
And yet I don’t move.
There’s enough cluttered mileage between
my feet and the mountain-heavy horizon
to remind me how far I’ve come from everything I know.
Did I really run from the cold reality of home,
my snow-covered car still spewing death to an overcast heaven?
Did I really just climb so desperately toward that same ceiling of air?
Could I not realize that this coat of blue paint over gray would look down
with the same disapproving eyes? Have I come to this cliff for a reason, reason itself, or the chance to forsake the lot of it on the desert floor?
i need a reason
and I think that if I can just back away,
the wind will slow
the train will dry
and the survivors might yet repair the damage.
Or at least throw down a new coat of paint.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Surface
When my bus crashed through the levee, felt my halo grow too heavy, said "I think...I think I'll take her off for now" in hopes of being lighter; but the lighter just backfired as the butane in my bloodstream tends to drown. With my denial by addiction, I'm playing my own benedict and vaguely wondering where I put that glowing ring.
Maybe I can find her if I dive down deep enough, I swear I'll come back up for air. Maybe I still can find the time to try redemption and I hope the surface can still welcome me back home.
I was looking through the window, but the rushing water's cloudy so I've no clue where I'm headed, only down. My reflection's just as hazy, I don't recognize this face; he's staring back and mouthing all my verbs and nouns. With my denial by addiction, I'm playing my own benedict and vaguely wondering where I put that glowing ring.
Maybe I can find her if I dive down deep enough, I swear I'll come back up for air. Maybe I still can find the time to try redemption and I hope the surface can still welcome me back home.
Na na na na na na na na na na na na na!
Maybe I can find her if I dive down deep enough, I swear I'll come back up for air. Maybe I still can find the time to try redemption and I hope the surface can still welcome me back home.
Maybe I can find her if I dive down deep enough, I swear I'll come back up for air. Maybe I still can find the time to try redemption and I hope the surface can still welcome me back home.
I was looking through the window, but the rushing water's cloudy so I've no clue where I'm headed, only down. My reflection's just as hazy, I don't recognize this face; he's staring back and mouthing all my verbs and nouns. With my denial by addiction, I'm playing my own benedict and vaguely wondering where I put that glowing ring.
Maybe I can find her if I dive down deep enough, I swear I'll come back up for air. Maybe I still can find the time to try redemption and I hope the surface can still welcome me back home.
Na na na na na na na na na na na na na!
Maybe I can find her if I dive down deep enough, I swear I'll come back up for air. Maybe I still can find the time to try redemption and I hope the surface can still welcome me back home.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The Whoops Goddamn Blues
It's raining pretty hard outside, the water's seeping through; i should've paid the 10 bucks for the nicer pair of shoes. It's getting fucking cold outside, I don't got much to do but sit here at this piece of shit and write a minor blues.I held her hair back and she thought that it was love. i tried to shoot the shit but whoops goddamn, i shot the dove. I've tried these metaphors before, and once more is enough...it's hard to win it every time when every time's a bluff.Missy told me, missy told me, missy told me thrice, don't drink too much, but if you do for god's sake keep the ice...well, its getting fucking cold outside, and the frozen drops of dew are to say the least inviting, since they have no other use; i'm in no mood for beauty, striking or sublime. I got no money in the bank, and i ain't got the time. So light me up a cigarette, steal away my lungs. I'm at the last verse anyway, the chord progression's done.
Veni, Vidi, Vodka
“I’m coming home…don’t wait up, mom, I’m alone.” And oh, how the echoes of these easy lies make their way through the phone. Time won’t slow this quickly creeping cold; I’m not coming home tonight.
Veni, Vidi, Vodka…odd that every song should sound the same. Make me believe God can hide in bottles, then maybe I’ll pray. I know right and I know wrong, but who the hell am I? I’m not coming home tonight.
Who told you rising without me was okay to do? Ooh, sorry I assumed…but Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, you must be tired too. Let the rain come round, water down these drinks I pound; I’m not coming home tonight.
Veni, Vidi, Vodka…odd that every song should sound the same. Make me believe God can hide in bottles, then maybe I’ll pray. I know right and I know wrong, but who the fuck am I? I’m not coming home tonight.
Veni, Vidi, Vodka…odd that every song should sound the same. Make me believe God can hide in bottles, then maybe I’ll pray. I know right and I know wrong, but who the hell am I? I’m not coming home tonight.
Who told you rising without me was okay to do? Ooh, sorry I assumed…but Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, you must be tired too. Let the rain come round, water down these drinks I pound; I’m not coming home tonight.
Veni, Vidi, Vodka…odd that every song should sound the same. Make me believe God can hide in bottles, then maybe I’ll pray. I know right and I know wrong, but who the fuck am I? I’m not coming home tonight.
Young and Ordinary
Wordless conversation in the backseat of the car between me and Lady Luck; but now she’s looking for somebody new she can fuck and I rue getting too greedy too soon. Now she’s posing downtown, cigarette in her frown, she moonlights as headlights ignite the sad sight of my loss.
Shadow still scares me, love. Can’t you see I am young and ordinary?
The boardwalk is dark now
And I’m going home.
I can fight the midnight, take a cold shower to wash wanton dreams from my skin; but they’re deep in. How I wish this were shallow, I wish this were shallow and I
Hanged from the gallows for days before you cut me down…but I don’t like the ground. It’s cold and it’s hard and it’s lonely so lonely and I…
Shadow still scares me, love. Can’t you see I am young and ordinary?
The boardwalk is dark now
And I’m going home.
Shadow still scares me, love. Can’t you see I am young and ordinary?
The boardwalk is dark now
And I’m going home.
I can fight the midnight, take a cold shower to wash wanton dreams from my skin; but they’re deep in. How I wish this were shallow, I wish this were shallow and I
Hanged from the gallows for days before you cut me down…but I don’t like the ground. It’s cold and it’s hard and it’s lonely so lonely and I…
Shadow still scares me, love. Can’t you see I am young and ordinary?
The boardwalk is dark now
And I’m going home.
Say Go
Carrie, puffing on a cigarette, never wary of the dawn’s regret, kisses me once again with a hey-oh! Shoot a round and say go. That’s the way it goes oh wait my clothes are not close but we are. We are such terrible people, with our consciences in a flask; one sip too hardened and feeble. But I only want to drink with you…I’d only want to drink with you.
Steer me. Our designated driver can’t be found. Growing weary of no thoughts aloud as your Dionysian charm still whispers hey-oh! Shoot a round and say go. That’s the way it goes oh wait my clothes are not close but we are. We are such terrible people, with our consciences in a flask; one sip too hardened and feeble. But I only want to drink with you…I’d only want to drink with you.
Lately, I’ve been thinking maybe I’ve been wrong, along with all the armies, arms raised strong; while they’re throwing stones, we’re throwing smiles with a hey-oh! Shoot a round and say go. That’s the way it goes, oh but I know that its close but we aren’t such terrible people, with our consciences in a flask; one sip too hardened and feeble. But I only want to drink with you…I’d only want to drink with you.
Steer me. Our designated driver can’t be found. Growing weary of no thoughts aloud as your Dionysian charm still whispers hey-oh! Shoot a round and say go. That’s the way it goes oh wait my clothes are not close but we are. We are such terrible people, with our consciences in a flask; one sip too hardened and feeble. But I only want to drink with you…I’d only want to drink with you.
Lately, I’ve been thinking maybe I’ve been wrong, along with all the armies, arms raised strong; while they’re throwing stones, we’re throwing smiles with a hey-oh! Shoot a round and say go. That’s the way it goes, oh but I know that its close but we aren’t such terrible people, with our consciences in a flask; one sip too hardened and feeble. But I only want to drink with you…I’d only want to drink with you.
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