Thursday, November 20, 2014

Hold Me Down, Helena (2014)

In this hollow chest I feel the echo coming off the stone
Of this body made of mud and blood and bone
A jagged ornamented mouth slurring everything that comes out
Like a lazy line of rehearsed excuses, regurgitated and useless
Catch my eyes for a second longer, I’m hoping I catch fire
I’m hoping that you’ll burn this wicker body to the ground

But in these empty veins bellows a cold breeze of memory
When the vines were wet with life and lust and something more like hope
So hard to set stale air ablaze with another pretty face
Twisting your hair away from your eyes while I try to note their color
It’s all just a ruse, following a motion of this play running ad nauseum
Waiting for that curtain to loose itself and crush me below its weighted, frayed skirt

The footsteps and the words get all tangled up in the cold
As the slow few seconds evaporate like the clouds off your lips
And how am I supposed to act, warm and stupid from liquor
Fumbling over a few words, substituting them for what I should be doing
I know better than this, but somehow my numb nerves made a fist
Of panic in my brain with all the old redundant worries growing like weeds

And in this hollow chest I feel an echo coming off the stone
Feeling the wrinkles in my brain wrap around a simple concept
More foreign than I remember, but guiding me in an empty dance
To parlay with the somber parts of the day where the sun shines too bright
And my head begins to ache, I force myself to get excited
When there’s literally nothing to just another name

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Sloppy and Abrupt (2014)

I don’t like the way I get nervous
Like the calm never left my body

I can see it in your eyes, the confusion
The lust for attention
Well, tonight
You have all of mine, undivided
Until a devil in a pinstripe suit comes calling

Constantly pushing back the strings of your hair
And dabbing at your wet nose
I’d say they were adorable habits
If I was in the habit of saying adorable things
But I over-analyze everything
Including sitting across the table from you

I’m not worldly, I’m barely charismatic
Words get caught in the back of my throat
As I’m getting sloppy drunk to kill the anxiety
And I feel like things are going alright

Until that awkward end of the night
When I didn’t walk you to your car
And drove through the falling midnight snow
Under a haze of an unsure goodbye

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Homunculus (2014)

My hands, these hands, they’re all engraved with lines
Like the lies riddled in dialogues throughout every conversation
Every word weighed with selfish intention, hoping, just hoping

My knuckles burn from the days I’d hold on too tight, so now
I hold on too little with my weak grip and watch all things blow away
Like piles of ash in a low wind, slowly it slips to an empty patch

These yards, these sidewalks, all full of footsteps I’ve retraced
Following myself down the same walkways to a different part of my life
I never asked to see, there’s no new revelation left to haunt me

My thighs are twitching with pooled blood, they’re tired of pushing
I’ve had my wins and my losses and it’s time to look up to the scoreboard
Tally up the season and go from there into the gloom of another saga

Mysterious with the fog of time not yet laid out in maps to treasure and traps
It’s naked like a peeled fruit, still wet and glinting in the sunlight of some lost hope
My mouth is less dry than just a second ago, I can feel this tongue stir

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Curator, Tell Me How Much This Is (2014)

My eyes are dry like a tongue after a glass of red wine
Darting from one face to the next, hoping I can watch one melt away
Just this once, let someone else handle all the stares
All the sets of faces with concern and sadness and unprecedented advice
After all, we’re all adults here, we all paid for the tickets
Now give us a real fucking show so we can finally go home and sleep
And talk of other things than that train wreck of a person
Barrel-rolling through life, a hurricane of self-loathing and regret
Certainly we’ve earned the right to ridicule someone else’s mess

Keep your rags stained with all that runny mascara
My eyes are dry, like a fucking desert underneath the highest fucking sun
It’s noon in the middle of another god damn summer, I’m busy bleaching bones
And counting the crawling critters slowly trudging through sand
You’ve got your designs set, anyone who knows the ritual can see
The routine play out like we’re in the Peanut Gallery, throwing stones
Yes, but also waiting for another shoe to drop so we can restart
Like a factory fucking reset on life, right out of the god damn box

But these eyes, these eyes are the wastes, staring out over ruins and ruins
Piles of shit that I’ve stacked so high, I couldn’t begin to climb out
I’d stab myself and tumble down to be another lump of discarded crap
Skeletal remains of the frames of infamy years after the buzz had died down
And the religious site where all the rites of sacrifice were burned on wooden altars
It’s all fucking ash now, all pieces of dead things in the wind, blown apart
By the invisible hand of change, putting its meddling fucking fingers in everything