They all waltz to a day dream,
a song of hung heads and jealousy
and bittersweet taste of rain,
imperfect, saddening melody,
quiet violin and delicate harmony
played gently through muted horn-
they keep each other warm,
but never me.
So I keep running down
a violent theme, familiar highway,
rain soaked through
the safety sweater,
but I'm now used to the weather,
the grayness, somber sky,
the foggy haze, the forecast lies
when they predict a change because
I'm far too scared of it.
Hysterical sobbing,
fall hot angry tears,
salty, sticky, bloody, thin red lines
thrown carelessly onto hip bones,
that's what we're used to,
lonely cavity, aching rib cage,
empty chest, then gently wailing,
gently screaming out,
at orchestra at symphony, clawing up
from dark grey graves, tear apart
hearts just trying to escape
the bleakness,
the depressive weight that
hits so hard like neon headlights
yellow moon of feuille de papier,
dark blue sky lined with
poison huckleberry constellations,
pale pink piano plays a lullaby,
contortionists tied down, writhing,
forced to lie upon the monstrous bed
that swallows the flesh alive,
while sleeper tries to annihilate
the dreams the nightmares the visions
of aging and headache of being
left behind, of being left alone,
they all go home and forget about me,
please don't forget about me,
you'll forget about me,
I'm sure you will.
And I hate you for it
but I'm sure you will.
(Maybe they'd love you if you
ate a little less, sang a little less,
said a little less, if you weren't such
a crumpled mess, pathetic in the
sunlight even more so in the moon,
if only they could count your ribs,
could feel the bones protrude,
forget the things that you've done,
the cuts that we've drawn,
the mornings and dawns where I
cried at daylight cause oh god
how it hurts to survive,
that lonely inked friend,
that decayed deep blue pen,
the violet violent that always tends
to come up in panicked ramblings
on the arm, a screeching car alarm
outside the greasy joint, the trailer
park, the summer dark, the
small town horror, the filthy band aid,
the dusty picture frame, the dizziness
and weakness and meekness,
the fearful whirlpool,
the draining colors in dying eyes,
the rushed hellos, drawn out goodbyes,
the fall downs, choked drown,
the get up, the get up, the get up,
the get up again and again and again,
god damn it, I'll shut up,
I'm going off again.)
He's a fire, lone survivor,
a protector, yes, but still a liar-
of course you're nothing special,
never let him make you think you're
special, just get away from me,
empty stomach keeping company,
half-faded ugly haunting scars and
luxury, so much money,
the upper, upper-class playing at
tragedy, oh what a sight to see,
this privileged kid
pretend to be unfortunate,
pretend to feel real pain, deranged
and angry, and just so fucking tired
of feeling this alone.
So Friday night, let's chase
the blues away, go out, look out,
put on a made-up face and
stand so tall,
and act so brave,
try to pretend that you're okay
with the fact that she's moved on
(cause she's moved on) and her new
girlfriend's not even that pretty-
shut up of course she's pretty,
you're just an asshole staring daggers
at the ones you love the most,
I'm wishing heartbreak on the ones
I love the most, I can't explain it but
I seethe with rage at
the turn of a page,
at a change of the heart
and the change of mind,
when somebody who loved me
flips the switch off inside
and moves on and finds peace and
stops seeing me-
they all stop seeing me,
they might keep staring but
never feeling all the things I think,
the sticky bar I sit behind,
sucking dregs from young
blond rising star, some drugged
kid-Icarus, and all their leftover love.
(I'm such a narcissist,
what do you mean, the world doesn't revolve around me?)
When I turn out the lights
it's an ecstasy, a shallow vacancy
in the funeral home, I let the darkness
lull me, pull me, oh so far away
from the cruel reality that they
would stop missing me, that no one's
kissing cold, dead, peeling lips and
scraping flaking skin off decomposing
bones, a handler, a scrambler for
scraps of my fleeting existence,
cause no one cares,
not quite that much,
but I can fantasize of empty eyes and
broken heart and broken cry,
of grating scream, so frantically
hands search for safer actuality
just after finding me,
I fell asleep and suddenly
forgot just how to breathe
(Don't worry though, it is/was just a dream.)
For we all waltz to our own theme,
a song of hung heads and jealousy
and bittersweet taste of rain,
imperfect, saddening melody,
imperfect, shattering melody,
quiet violin, quiet heartfelt sin,
and oh so delicate harmony
played gently through
the muted brass french horn.
outside the ballroom
it starts to storm,
in here,
they keep each other warm,
but never me.
in here,
they'll keep the other warm,
but never me.
