1. |
||||
I picture myself in older age
placing flowers on the table
in a painfully silent room
with no assurance from anyone
that things were in fact, real
or that anyone remembers
how I said I felt, and as I
sit down at the table
with a pen, and some paper
I glance up quickly
at the flowers,
and something clicks
and I am back there
I discover a photographic
memory for carefully arranged
and planted produce
in evenly seeded rows, and
I discover a photographic
tendency for
an ever changing face,
placed at a distance, hidden
in figures of speech and slips
of a faded tongue
“You look like someone
that I know,
but not as well as I know you,
or so I thought I knew”
and it all comes crashing back
I’m in my kitchen
with a lacerated vision
of a past with no redeemers
of a life I didn’t live in
of a god with no believer,
a believer with no god.
|
||||
2. |
coke in my mountain dew
00:36
|
|||
I might as well.
Bleed out of my fucking stomach
vomit neon blue lightning
sliced up fucking puerile throat lining
blurry grainy carnal image lighting
it’s more than I can fucking stomach
“my bike was just stolen,
but lines and blunts”
|
||||
3. |
||||
regretted time spent
Staying in debt
Seen in scattered pictures
Treasured memories
Slicked back hair
The lack of memories will never compare
I hope i take after you
A man i never knew
A man ill never be
Or live to see
Shattered dreams; childhood ptsd
Im sorry you lived that way
Id take it all back if i could
|
||||
4. |
cell death
00:50
|
|||
Calaway park, haunted saloon shooting gallery
young me wants to play more carnival games
deceptively difficult ring toss
engineered disappointment
high school, insular microcosm
at the end of the hall
ulcers break our membrane
programmed cell death
who are you now, university and college
set your fucking money on fire and watch it burn
predetermined suffering
life has been a fucking joke in paradise
and it wasn’t fun, wasn’t fulfilling
want more than is possible
reality is a hornet sting
a swarm of bees will fucking eat me alive
I take and take and take
|
||||
5. |
||||
Congratulations on not having a fucking clue
and being celebrated for your arrogance
Lorde is a better musician and person than you,
may you have an existential crisis
and see yourself for what you truly are.
|
||||
6. |
||||
What is it that makes me find
everything so strikingly beautiful -
a period of time in which I saw
the glint of night upon an endless shore
of dirt and leaves and pavement
lit up with bright lights like christmas
burning up the evening
a violent dissolution
when there’s nothing left,
and no one who remembers -
we’ll know all is just illusion.
|
||||
7. |
dying tickles
02:54
|
|||
the sun rose at 5 in the morning that day.
i was sitting on my roof watching the world slowly, burn.
it takes a lot of time for something so alive and full of life to die.
i've watched it many times.
take a deep breath and stretch before the stretcher leaves the house.
i have nightmares of this alternate reality,
in which i lost my mother to herself and my father to alcohol-
i am haunted, i am tired.
i want to expire but somehow, insomnia must have a coke problem.
so i walk for hours discussing side effects and
who will be to blame for the arson of the universe,
for it is a question of morals, if the dead can be convicted.
and we talk for hours about the husband who lost his wife during stalin's reign,
her daughter telling friends her mom went away...
i would like to follow the trail of consciousness into the abyss,
i would like to fall asleep with a plastic bag around my throat.
no more disappointment over electric stoves.
i would take my grandfather's bayonet and sign my name, my brain, on the wall.
i've felt enough guilt for the unsympathetic. a mother gives everything for her young.
i've wandered around the minds of paraphiliacs. a mother's needs & a cold sweat on my tongue.
i will drink the sleeping pills in my vodka and let the tide be my blanket.
leave the needle in my arm.
throw my body in the yard.
that's all i ask.
- signed
|
||||
8. |
how i live now
01:20
|
|||
amputated ambition
where did it all go?
washed down the drain
you were pulling hair from
a recognizable face
in the mirror
a ghost reaching
for my tonsils
when i close my eyes all i see is fire
its a likely reminder that i'm burning more than bridges
holding onto the ridges of a mountain -
this nightmare does not differ from the times my eyes are open
this dream i'll never achieve -
all this pain for what? nothing.
|
||||
9. |
||||
but i am just a local merchant from...this town!
|
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