The uneven room spins lightly like a hollow globe filled with christmas lights. Neither her nor there could stop the tumble now. Alpine outlines in the storefronts like silhouettes cut from colored paper. Burnt away like tobacco, stained fingers scratching musical notations into the forearm. Into the neck. Into the shoulder blades. So when I'm gone, before I start falling to pieces, you can play the simple notes that made up my skin. At my wake, you'll hear my spirit crawling out from under my toenails and heading for the door. Drunk haunts lolling around the bar while everyone pretends to cry harder than everyone else. With me in the box, no one will remember what a terrible thing I was. Stitches of black sheep's wool sewn into my mouth to form a smile. Little avian bones implanted in my fingers to keep them straight. A clown's nose left in my lung so no one will laugh when I'm not breathing anymore.
Lately I've been feeling like the sky is mocking me. I throw stones upwards, but they always come back down. They break my cheekbones, they shatter my already ugly nose. The ground laps up blood like a dog in the desert. In a few years, strange trees will grow from there, where I spilled out and cried and screamed until I died. New plants will push through tainted soil and wither beneath the sun. It was one hell of a life we led, but that's all lost now, it's gone. We gave it the right to repine and spill its guts, but nothing came out we didn't already hate.
We could open the good book, read verse after verse until we feel close enough to kiss god, but there are no lips on that...
You can't kill what is already dead
You can't wonder what's left in my head
The best rivers end in the lake
With bodies of men whom you just couldn't shake
Floating like paper dolls on...
1) If you had to pick one song to listen to on repeat for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Either "Natures" by Being As An Ocean, or "A Night At The Spleen" by Closure In...
There's a creek beneath the hill
Where I could wade if I chose
Where I could drink up my swill
It's the color of your clothes
And forgotten I would be
As I'm forgotten as I am
Synthetic apparitions rising
Like ghosts and vapors all
Into the steam of the sun
Heat is leaving with the fall
Suspended by ankles
Above pools in the stream
Letting in just enough light
I wish they'd stop calling me a poet
I've written nothing of merit
In the bowering shade of worthless shit
Never painted a pretty picture
Didn't make anything worth a damn
I wish they'd...
Someone, somewhere, is yelling
You may not hear it, but they are
And somewhere, there's a joke being told
Tips finding their way to the jar
I walked through Carroll Gardens
I am unafraid of what's between my jaws
Not the prey or the drink or the squirming words
What I shed is the bravery, what I've lost is hope
Yes, I thought the hunt would save me
I came to life as though night had never reared its ugly head. The swirling black cosmos of theory that we put so much faith in. A face beneath the constellations of light that may...