I wonder who she likes today?
Another day another boy
Another role to play
I feel so sorry for her
Who's holding her cold hands today?
Another summer, 'nother winter
As they come, they break
I feel so sorry for them
Sitting with her at the mall
Can't understand what she does with them all
The sound of her voice
Tears them up inside
Though they won't admit it
I'm sure they're crying
Where's all the loose change today?
Hanging out by the damn
vending machine all day
Smoke yourself to death
Why's she changing the damn plans today?
The same old stuff again
I wonder who's the blame
Tell her come out of her shell
Sitting with her at her house
Can't understand, In all her thoughts I drown
The taped photographs
Tears them up inside
Though they won't admit it
I'm sure they're crying.
What's so likable today?
Is it her eyes, her legs,
The siren songs she plays?
Under her liner, she's fake
Why do they love her today?
The false promises, future misses,
Romantic roses they say
I feel so sorry for them
Sit with her in front of the fire
The cold grays resemble love for hire
The view of open shirts
Tears them up inside
Though they won't admit
I'm sure they're crying
The feeling of amberless lust?
Monday, June 29, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The General Population
As I laid dying on the stale carpet, I thought back to those cold days in the basement.
And how I stared at that same light bulb on end until there was a place where my retinas wanted tear themselves out. I remember listening to those prefaded mix tapes screeching out their mellow guitars and stupid phony poetic words that seemed to mean everything and nothing at the same time.
God, I hated people. Maybe that's why I was doomed to live alone. Except for Casey, though she's gone. In hiding like all the others.
Sometimes I didn't see why she was so lovable, but every time she talked to me and smiled, no matter how fake I thought it was, it all came back to me.
But I, the one they relied on is their last barricade against the unknown. Her familiar white sneakers treaded through my mind and all those awkward incidences flew by my useless ear canal. I saw myself go crazy in their minds, their self conceded minds, the only good held back the thing they called home. Their sanity. There's a reason I was here right now, I suppose.
As my eyes shut for the last time, I wondered why I spent all my free time alone.
And how I stared at that same light bulb on end until there was a place where my retinas wanted tear themselves out. I remember listening to those prefaded mix tapes screeching out their mellow guitars and stupid phony poetic words that seemed to mean everything and nothing at the same time.
God, I hated people. Maybe that's why I was doomed to live alone. Except for Casey, though she's gone. In hiding like all the others.
Sometimes I didn't see why she was so lovable, but every time she talked to me and smiled, no matter how fake I thought it was, it all came back to me.
But I, the one they relied on is their last barricade against the unknown. Her familiar white sneakers treaded through my mind and all those awkward incidences flew by my useless ear canal. I saw myself go crazy in their minds, their self conceded minds, the only good held back the thing they called home. Their sanity. There's a reason I was here right now, I suppose.
As my eyes shut for the last time, I wondered why I spent all my free time alone.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Landmine
So my goldfish died again.
I mean, it was a different goldfish from before. I wish it was the same goldfish, then at least it could come back. Like some sort of phoenix rising from its ashes. Though since it's a fish, I guess the ashes would kinda float.
I just kinda stared at him for a while before taking him to the ceramic tomb the British like to call the loo. I didn't know him very long, to be honest. He only enjoyed his stay here for like a week, though I don't know if he enjoyed it. You know, considering he's dead and all. I tried to grab him with my net but the sucker moved pretty fast for a dead guy. I got him and walked with a paper towel under him towards the bathroom.
I didn't really like doing this, after all he was my pet, my responsibility. I'd like to think he was in a better place, but I didn't know how that worked. I wasn't really that religious but I don't think there's like a goldfish purgatory. I can't see little pet fish swimming all over the place in hell. I don't even know how a fish could end up in hell. The sucker had a one second memory, he didn't know any better.
I pulled him out of the net with my fingers and held him over the toilet. This strange feeling ran through my body. I mean, this little guy's lifeless body just made me feel so weird. Just a day ago, he was happy as hell swimming around his little glass bowl, though he wouldn't remember it, on account of the memory loss. Now he doesn't know which way's up. He doesn't even know. It's like he doesn't exist anymore. All his fishy friends probably are worried. I don't think so. They've got more important things to worry about. Like staying underwater, I suppose. Or eating. Or remembering to breathe. Stupid fish.
I dropped his body and it made a small splash on the seat. I wiped it clean with the paper towel and then laid it over his body like an American flag over a soldier. I don't think I could stand to see his soulless skeleton disappear. I didn't want my last picture of him to be filled with a picture of a eye not blinking ever. Blach, I needed to get a hold of myself. It's just a fish.
I decided to color a memorial. Just something to look back on later I guess. I tried to make one every time something important happened. Something I could draw. Fish aren't that hard to draw, and his bowl is pretty simple. The pebbles at the bottom were just circles and ovals. I can draw that. I got out my markers and started tracing an outline of my bowl and my ex-goldfish. I guess goldfish are pretty easy to get over. I used a bolder black marker for the outline of the bowl. Then I drew the pebbles. I started to draw each individual one, but I got bored and tired of the circles really fast so I just kinda scribbled it into the background. All my outlines were done.
I started filling in the bowl and the pebbles at the bottom with solid blues and greens. The only thing I could think of was of how many words I could have written with these markers instead of wasting their bold powers on this stupid poster thing. It looked like I could have written a good poem or two. When I was done, I stuck it in my folder that I called my "art portfolio". I guess I just wanted to be professional at it.
Now I had to empty the bowl of everything and clean it out. I picked up the bowl and went to the kitchen sink. I dumped all the pebbles and the little moss thing into the sink. I felt kinda bad. I mean, if I died I wouldn't like it if someone took all my stuff and dumped it in the street or in the junkyard like I was nothing to them. So I picked up a pebble and put it in my pocket. I guess I could keep it. Maybe when I'm old and gray I'll still remember this little sucker.
I mean, it was a different goldfish from before. I wish it was the same goldfish, then at least it could come back. Like some sort of phoenix rising from its ashes. Though since it's a fish, I guess the ashes would kinda float.
I just kinda stared at him for a while before taking him to the ceramic tomb the British like to call the loo. I didn't know him very long, to be honest. He only enjoyed his stay here for like a week, though I don't know if he enjoyed it. You know, considering he's dead and all. I tried to grab him with my net but the sucker moved pretty fast for a dead guy. I got him and walked with a paper towel under him towards the bathroom.
I didn't really like doing this, after all he was my pet, my responsibility. I'd like to think he was in a better place, but I didn't know how that worked. I wasn't really that religious but I don't think there's like a goldfish purgatory. I can't see little pet fish swimming all over the place in hell. I don't even know how a fish could end up in hell. The sucker had a one second memory, he didn't know any better.
I pulled him out of the net with my fingers and held him over the toilet. This strange feeling ran through my body. I mean, this little guy's lifeless body just made me feel so weird. Just a day ago, he was happy as hell swimming around his little glass bowl, though he wouldn't remember it, on account of the memory loss. Now he doesn't know which way's up. He doesn't even know. It's like he doesn't exist anymore. All his fishy friends probably are worried. I don't think so. They've got more important things to worry about. Like staying underwater, I suppose. Or eating. Or remembering to breathe. Stupid fish.
I dropped his body and it made a small splash on the seat. I wiped it clean with the paper towel and then laid it over his body like an American flag over a soldier. I don't think I could stand to see his soulless skeleton disappear. I didn't want my last picture of him to be filled with a picture of a eye not blinking ever. Blach, I needed to get a hold of myself. It's just a fish.
I decided to color a memorial. Just something to look back on later I guess. I tried to make one every time something important happened. Something I could draw. Fish aren't that hard to draw, and his bowl is pretty simple. The pebbles at the bottom were just circles and ovals. I can draw that. I got out my markers and started tracing an outline of my bowl and my ex-goldfish. I guess goldfish are pretty easy to get over. I used a bolder black marker for the outline of the bowl. Then I drew the pebbles. I started to draw each individual one, but I got bored and tired of the circles really fast so I just kinda scribbled it into the background. All my outlines were done.
I started filling in the bowl and the pebbles at the bottom with solid blues and greens. The only thing I could think of was of how many words I could have written with these markers instead of wasting their bold powers on this stupid poster thing. It looked like I could have written a good poem or two. When I was done, I stuck it in my folder that I called my "art portfolio". I guess I just wanted to be professional at it.
Now I had to empty the bowl of everything and clean it out. I picked up the bowl and went to the kitchen sink. I dumped all the pebbles and the little moss thing into the sink. I felt kinda bad. I mean, if I died I wouldn't like it if someone took all my stuff and dumped it in the street or in the junkyard like I was nothing to them. So I picked up a pebble and put it in my pocket. I guess I could keep it. Maybe when I'm old and gray I'll still remember this little sucker.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Idea Drought
I've got nothing to do, when actually I have everything to do.
This is one of those moments where I just wanna drift away and die.
Where's the punctuality I once displayed with my ace remarks?
Why do I want to die right now and a corpse and have my sorrow instead of waiting all life for five minutes of fame?
Why do I get the feeling that in the end, I mean nothing?
I've been wired into the system, yet I feel disconnected. Even the Network has ignored me. I feel like joining the spirit of Lushotology. I want to feel so gone that I have no where else to hit. I feel like hitting rock bottom before getting back up.
I can't remember a thing, my mind is in a hundred different places at once. I can't concentrate. Essay due on Tuesday, what do I do? Drift away.
Fire burning in the main place, where is my conscious? I can't think straight at all. I feel repetitive. My minds in a hundred different places at once. Where is my spark? I feel like dumping people out of my life that don't help me at all, though it's not their fault.
The memories and imprints that make me up are shattering. When I see you cry, I die. When you crash and burn, what hope do I have? The happiest person I know gets blue and it feels like a bad balloon. A defection inflation of the ninth retaliation.
I used to be scared about falling asleep and never waking up. And when you wake up next to me, do you cry because this is where finally ended up? Now I welcome the endless prayer. Place me in purgatory, Holden Caulfield, because now I'm awake and I feel so useless in this society we call home.
A demon's suicide note burns in my hands and I feel the pieces scar my palms. The death of millions in the streets of San Francisco when I hear you scream out, "New York!".
My brain's falling apart inside my head, a concrete rollercoaster, a mental lag. Browser failure, crisp books with bent spines, why don't you help me out tonight?
Smoke me to death, Newport rings.
My mind is so gone...
This is one of those moments where I just wanna drift away and die.
Where's the punctuality I once displayed with my ace remarks?
Why do I want to die right now and a corpse and have my sorrow instead of waiting all life for five minutes of fame?
Why do I get the feeling that in the end, I mean nothing?
I've been wired into the system, yet I feel disconnected. Even the Network has ignored me. I feel like joining the spirit of Lushotology. I want to feel so gone that I have no where else to hit. I feel like hitting rock bottom before getting back up.
I can't remember a thing, my mind is in a hundred different places at once. I can't concentrate. Essay due on Tuesday, what do I do? Drift away.
Fire burning in the main place, where is my conscious? I can't think straight at all. I feel repetitive. My minds in a hundred different places at once. Where is my spark? I feel like dumping people out of my life that don't help me at all, though it's not their fault.
The memories and imprints that make me up are shattering. When I see you cry, I die. When you crash and burn, what hope do I have? The happiest person I know gets blue and it feels like a bad balloon. A defection inflation of the ninth retaliation.
I used to be scared about falling asleep and never waking up. And when you wake up next to me, do you cry because this is where finally ended up? Now I welcome the endless prayer. Place me in purgatory, Holden Caulfield, because now I'm awake and I feel so useless in this society we call home.
A demon's suicide note burns in my hands and I feel the pieces scar my palms. The death of millions in the streets of San Francisco when I hear you scream out, "New York!".
My brain's falling apart inside my head, a concrete rollercoaster, a mental lag. Browser failure, crisp books with bent spines, why don't you help me out tonight?
Smoke me to death, Newport rings.
My mind is so gone...
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Bad Day (music class assignment)
Act I
The walls were thrashing, the floor spinning in place. The carpet was being pulled out from underneath me all at once. The posters on my bland bedroom walls were torn and ripped into confetti pieces.
I had a bad day.
I slammed the door. The hinges cracked and squeaked. I threw around anything I could grab and laid down on my bed. I closed my eyes. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. I finally had a moment of relaxation realizing the day was almost done. I was drifting away. I didn’t have to lay here on this bed. Then I had moment where I realized the day was not done at all. I could go anywhere do anything I wanted. I could fly. I could dance. I could sing. Not well, but whatever I wanted. I opened the door and I ran outside. Shadows chased me into the woods nearby. The sun leaked through the trees and the cool breeze threw up orange leaves and dead leaves. The smell of soggy wood wound its way around the maze of forest and I was alone. The center of it all. I was done. I was there. There was nothing else to do but run. So I ran. I ran until my legs fell out from underneath me and then I kept going. Before I knew it I didn’t know where I was, but I kept going. The edge of the woods came near, and I almost reached it. I fell short as usual. Like everything else I tried in life I failed. I thought back on all the times I didn’t talk to her. I thought about all those people I mistreated and all the things I should have done with my life. I could have done anything. Now I was laying here on the wet leaves with my head against the soggy wood. The sun no longer kept me enlightened. The shadows became longer and the animals began to talk to each other. I was too far away from home to make it back before anything came out. Even without the sun, the moon and the stars were enough to keep me there longer. The endless void of broken glass we called the night sky filled every inch of my vision. Days seemed to pass. Now the shadows were reaching forward. The airspace was closing in on me.
Act II
I awoke on a ship. It was still night time, but the moon lit up the majestic red of the floorboards and the motions of the waves gently rocked me. I was on the front and I seemed to be alone. I didn’t trust anything here. Who knows how I got here? Yet, I seemed to explore. I noticed all the details. The fine, sanded wood ran between my fingertips. The boards underneath my feet refused to creak and the rooms looked like they had never been touched. I sat on the steps leading to the upper deck for quite some time. My elbows rested on my knees and I looked up down and around. No one was here for now. Suddenly cold energy rushed through me as if a ghost had gone through me. The feeling didn’t last long and I went down to one of the rooms. Paintings on that wall suddenly lost their color and the wood became dull. Crashes from the waves increased and I ran outside. My sneakers became soggy and water started to rise. Sails came crashing down and I could suddenly hear the screams of a thousand people. The brilliant red the ship once possessed was gone. Winds blinded me and I fell. I kept falling. The salty water engulfed me, but I continued to fall. The darkness called to me and no longer did I have control. My lungs burst and my eyes enflamed. I stopped resisting and let it take me. I’m now iced over.
Act III
“Think fast!”
My eyes opened and I could suddenly breathe. Food came flying at me. Cans of preserved fruit and vegetables landed in front of me. A flour soaked apron draped over my tattered clothes. As everyone else ran around me struggling to fill orders and putting together their dishes, I took a minute to look at everything. Again, the walls were painted a bright red, just like the ship. The floor was red as well. This whole time, I’d been thinking too much and wondering. The swinging doors kept slamming into the tables on wheels.
“Get him!”
Before I could look back, dogs had been released on me. What had I done? I didn’t even know where I was. I ran outside while people gazed as the dust trail of flour and sugar left them in a fog. I ran through this foreign town in a blind man’s fashion, choosing paths at random, running into dead ends as I heard the dogs bark closer. I took a left. A right. Another left. Over a fence and through a backyard. I ended up in a strange part of town. While the buildings back there seemed deflated and the street lights barely able to cut through the dust in the town, here was someplace quite out of place. Bright Christmas lights dangled from street lights and the dirt road was neatly in order. Market stands were still open from the day. I gave severe thought to picking up a tomato. I walked with the piece of fruit in my hand. Suddenly, the dirt kicked up and I heard the dogs picking up their pace. Would they ever give up? They went the other way I was left standing there terrified. What kind of thing had I gotten myself into? Where were these alternate dimensions I was in? I kept walking and left footprints behind me, kicking up the dirt. The barking returned and I started jogging. The lights seemed to fade and the homeliness disappeared. I ran. I tripped.
I woke in a padded room. Straight jacket on tight. Screaming gained no reply. The war between me and this piece of fabric went on for what seemed like several hours before I gave up. Sitting in the corner with my mouth now magically taped shut and my arms tied behind my back, I began to wish I was in the forest again. Running was my escape. Now I’m in a mental prison. I thought back on all the times I didn’t talk to her. I thought about all those people I mistreated and all the things I should have done with my life. I could have done anything. Now I was laying my head on a cushion designed for the most cracked of minds. I began to think deeper. The things I nitpick at are just not the same. Are they really worth picking apart? Should I really correct little things that bother me? Is that what I really really need to do? If I correct it, will something else just become more noticeable? Will correcting that period actually make it Shakespearean? Or is it the big picture? Is that Shakespearean piece really what's wrong with it? No matter fixing the grammar if it's going to end up no better in the end. Then again, maybe it makes all the difference. Maybe one rose on the doorstep can solve anything. Maybe one letter in her mailbox can help the situation. Maybe one tiny fit of rage will make something more understandable. It's hard to tell until someone actually goes through with those things. I'm not the best person in the world. I know for a fact that there are way better people out there than me. I know that I'm not always the most moral. But I know that I don't deserve this. Do I? Do I deserve to be in this mental prison reserved for those of writers? A place with imaginary people tapping me on the shoulder. Soft tunes in my head. Playing. Half slanted eye lids. Good times well lost? Time is a Lost and Found. My lost and found that will never rebound because someone keeps stealing it from me. Better thank who I want. Everyone knows it might be too late. Conversations with myself telling myself where to go with my life.
Is it too late for me?
I woke up in sweat. The posters still ripped into shredded puzzle pieces. The door still cracked down the middle. It was all a dream.
I had a bad day.
Maybe I should go outside and run.
The walls were thrashing, the floor spinning in place. The carpet was being pulled out from underneath me all at once. The posters on my bland bedroom walls were torn and ripped into confetti pieces.
I had a bad day.
I slammed the door. The hinges cracked and squeaked. I threw around anything I could grab and laid down on my bed. I closed my eyes. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. I finally had a moment of relaxation realizing the day was almost done. I was drifting away. I didn’t have to lay here on this bed. Then I had moment where I realized the day was not done at all. I could go anywhere do anything I wanted. I could fly. I could dance. I could sing. Not well, but whatever I wanted. I opened the door and I ran outside. Shadows chased me into the woods nearby. The sun leaked through the trees and the cool breeze threw up orange leaves and dead leaves. The smell of soggy wood wound its way around the maze of forest and I was alone. The center of it all. I was done. I was there. There was nothing else to do but run. So I ran. I ran until my legs fell out from underneath me and then I kept going. Before I knew it I didn’t know where I was, but I kept going. The edge of the woods came near, and I almost reached it. I fell short as usual. Like everything else I tried in life I failed. I thought back on all the times I didn’t talk to her. I thought about all those people I mistreated and all the things I should have done with my life. I could have done anything. Now I was laying here on the wet leaves with my head against the soggy wood. The sun no longer kept me enlightened. The shadows became longer and the animals began to talk to each other. I was too far away from home to make it back before anything came out. Even without the sun, the moon and the stars were enough to keep me there longer. The endless void of broken glass we called the night sky filled every inch of my vision. Days seemed to pass. Now the shadows were reaching forward. The airspace was closing in on me.
Act II
I awoke on a ship. It was still night time, but the moon lit up the majestic red of the floorboards and the motions of the waves gently rocked me. I was on the front and I seemed to be alone. I didn’t trust anything here. Who knows how I got here? Yet, I seemed to explore. I noticed all the details. The fine, sanded wood ran between my fingertips. The boards underneath my feet refused to creak and the rooms looked like they had never been touched. I sat on the steps leading to the upper deck for quite some time. My elbows rested on my knees and I looked up down and around. No one was here for now. Suddenly cold energy rushed through me as if a ghost had gone through me. The feeling didn’t last long and I went down to one of the rooms. Paintings on that wall suddenly lost their color and the wood became dull. Crashes from the waves increased and I ran outside. My sneakers became soggy and water started to rise. Sails came crashing down and I could suddenly hear the screams of a thousand people. The brilliant red the ship once possessed was gone. Winds blinded me and I fell. I kept falling. The salty water engulfed me, but I continued to fall. The darkness called to me and no longer did I have control. My lungs burst and my eyes enflamed. I stopped resisting and let it take me. I’m now iced over.
Act III
“Think fast!”
My eyes opened and I could suddenly breathe. Food came flying at me. Cans of preserved fruit and vegetables landed in front of me. A flour soaked apron draped over my tattered clothes. As everyone else ran around me struggling to fill orders and putting together their dishes, I took a minute to look at everything. Again, the walls were painted a bright red, just like the ship. The floor was red as well. This whole time, I’d been thinking too much and wondering. The swinging doors kept slamming into the tables on wheels.
“Get him!”
Before I could look back, dogs had been released on me. What had I done? I didn’t even know where I was. I ran outside while people gazed as the dust trail of flour and sugar left them in a fog. I ran through this foreign town in a blind man’s fashion, choosing paths at random, running into dead ends as I heard the dogs bark closer. I took a left. A right. Another left. Over a fence and through a backyard. I ended up in a strange part of town. While the buildings back there seemed deflated and the street lights barely able to cut through the dust in the town, here was someplace quite out of place. Bright Christmas lights dangled from street lights and the dirt road was neatly in order. Market stands were still open from the day. I gave severe thought to picking up a tomato. I walked with the piece of fruit in my hand. Suddenly, the dirt kicked up and I heard the dogs picking up their pace. Would they ever give up? They went the other way I was left standing there terrified. What kind of thing had I gotten myself into? Where were these alternate dimensions I was in? I kept walking and left footprints behind me, kicking up the dirt. The barking returned and I started jogging. The lights seemed to fade and the homeliness disappeared. I ran. I tripped.
I woke in a padded room. Straight jacket on tight. Screaming gained no reply. The war between me and this piece of fabric went on for what seemed like several hours before I gave up. Sitting in the corner with my mouth now magically taped shut and my arms tied behind my back, I began to wish I was in the forest again. Running was my escape. Now I’m in a mental prison. I thought back on all the times I didn’t talk to her. I thought about all those people I mistreated and all the things I should have done with my life. I could have done anything. Now I was laying my head on a cushion designed for the most cracked of minds. I began to think deeper. The things I nitpick at are just not the same. Are they really worth picking apart? Should I really correct little things that bother me? Is that what I really really need to do? If I correct it, will something else just become more noticeable? Will correcting that period actually make it Shakespearean? Or is it the big picture? Is that Shakespearean piece really what's wrong with it? No matter fixing the grammar if it's going to end up no better in the end. Then again, maybe it makes all the difference. Maybe one rose on the doorstep can solve anything. Maybe one letter in her mailbox can help the situation. Maybe one tiny fit of rage will make something more understandable. It's hard to tell until someone actually goes through with those things. I'm not the best person in the world. I know for a fact that there are way better people out there than me. I know that I'm not always the most moral. But I know that I don't deserve this. Do I? Do I deserve to be in this mental prison reserved for those of writers? A place with imaginary people tapping me on the shoulder. Soft tunes in my head. Playing. Half slanted eye lids. Good times well lost? Time is a Lost and Found. My lost and found that will never rebound because someone keeps stealing it from me. Better thank who I want. Everyone knows it might be too late. Conversations with myself telling myself where to go with my life.
Is it too late for me?
I woke up in sweat. The posters still ripped into shredded puzzle pieces. The door still cracked down the middle. It was all a dream.
I had a bad day.
Maybe I should go outside and run.
Fader
I saw your CD sitting in the bin
I picked it up
And read your description
I think that you'd be just the band
That she would be
Interested in
I'm pretty sure she would like you
You're just her style
You have no clue
I paid for it and went to her home
She put it in the player
And turned up the stereo
Now you're sitting on top of the whole world
Drinking all that stuff 'til you thought you'd hurl
When talentless became a synonym for rap
You knew I'd quit and turn to you
Maybe tomorrow..
She loved it, she's so thrilled
We went to your show
She thought you guys killed
She showed it to all her new friends
But not to your surprise
They all enjoyed it
She's got your shirts and wearing your hair
Everyone's doing it
Now they've all got flair
I've turned you into the hit of the school
There is no finders fee
Isn't it cruel?
Now you're sitting on top of the whole world
Drinking all that stuff 'til you thought you'd hurl
When talentless became a synonym for rap
You knew I'd quit and turn to you
Maybe tomorrow..
If I would have known what would have happened
I would have kept you unknown
Put you back in the bin
Before you knew it, a couple months later
You've broken up and all your fans are haters
I saw your CD sitting in the bin
I picked it up
And read your description
I remembered what could have been
Maybe I'll finally give you a listen
I picked it up
And read your description
I think that you'd be just the band
That she would be
Interested in
I'm pretty sure she would like you
You're just her style
You have no clue
I paid for it and went to her home
She put it in the player
And turned up the stereo
Now you're sitting on top of the whole world
Drinking all that stuff 'til you thought you'd hurl
When talentless became a synonym for rap
You knew I'd quit and turn to you
Maybe tomorrow..
She loved it, she's so thrilled
We went to your show
She thought you guys killed
She showed it to all her new friends
But not to your surprise
They all enjoyed it
She's got your shirts and wearing your hair
Everyone's doing it
Now they've all got flair
I've turned you into the hit of the school
There is no finders fee
Isn't it cruel?
Now you're sitting on top of the whole world
Drinking all that stuff 'til you thought you'd hurl
When talentless became a synonym for rap
You knew I'd quit and turn to you
Maybe tomorrow..
If I would have known what would have happened
I would have kept you unknown
Put you back in the bin
Before you knew it, a couple months later
You've broken up and all your fans are haters
I saw your CD sitting in the bin
I picked it up
And read your description
I remembered what could have been
Maybe I'll finally give you a listen
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Melolagnia
Stop screaming out your New York hopes and dreams, I'm sorry to say that you're stuck here. There's no escape. The same restraints that have me tied down are keeping you here. Trust me, I wanted to get out too. I wanted to find a better place for my personality. I took the advice of people I have never known or will ever know and I started to notice things that no one else cared to dedicate a thought to. If you really think you'll really make it, go ahead. Run. Runaway. See how far you'll go. I want to see you kick your heels up and head for the hills. Next you'll be wishing that you were back here. Where is the future when you need it? It's gone now. No hard feelings, but it seems that there were no feelings to begin with. You want a more explosive life, I think I want you out of mine.
It's sad what I do when I'm alone and without you. I sit around and I mope. I cry. I sit and wish that you didn't have to run away. I still play the mix CD that we made the summer before you ran away. I never want to get out of bed. Where are you now? Did you make it? How far did you get before your legs gave out?
I wish I was the one that could make you smile. The one that made you answer slyly to questions regarding relations. That one that made you think about what you were going to wear to school that day, though it wouldn't matter what, not that I don't care. "Keep your head up soldier", they told me. "Don't look down", they told me.
They called me confident
They called me insecure
The case has been closed, but I'm still thinking about her
So where am I now?
I know I'm not a savior. I have a staple in my heart that means nothing. I have notes that mean nothing. I have short stories that mean nothing. I have the urge to finish off strong, only to blow it off in the end. I strive for the rock opera rather than the street cred, which limits me. I've become a hypocrite, a hater of haters. A phony, a fake. No better than a wax figure.
Identity crisis from an unknown agent, where am I?
Who am I?
It's sad what I do when I'm alone and without you. I sit around and I mope. I cry. I sit and wish that you didn't have to run away. I still play the mix CD that we made the summer before you ran away. I never want to get out of bed. Where are you now? Did you make it? How far did you get before your legs gave out?
I wish I was the one that could make you smile. The one that made you answer slyly to questions regarding relations. That one that made you think about what you were going to wear to school that day, though it wouldn't matter what, not that I don't care. "Keep your head up soldier", they told me. "Don't look down", they told me.
They called me confident
They called me insecure
The case has been closed, but I'm still thinking about her
So where am I now?
I know I'm not a savior. I have a staple in my heart that means nothing. I have notes that mean nothing. I have short stories that mean nothing. I have the urge to finish off strong, only to blow it off in the end. I strive for the rock opera rather than the street cred, which limits me. I've become a hypocrite, a hater of haters. A phony, a fake. No better than a wax figure.
Identity crisis from an unknown agent, where am I?
Who am I?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
