Arthur James Kirkland

gross.

... As if I knew what to do before
          I can fuck up almost anything
          
          I don’t think that I would exactly call it love
          But it’s dripping down my consciousness
          As you’re slipping down my lungs
          
          I want to build you a protest out of sticks and rocks
          I find in the backyard behind the house you grew up in
          In loving memory of all our nonconformity
          I want to sing you a signal that reaches only the ears
          Of young disenfranchised straight white boys
          Because that would feel normal, and none of this does
          
          I don’t think that I would exactly call it love
          But it’s dripping down my consciousness
          As you’re slipping down my lungs
          
          So save it for a rainy day and maybe then you’ll see
          That I am like the earth, old man, there’s no way around me
          
          But even in my dreams
          I still don’t know the difference between
          What it is I want and what it is I need
          I wanna see you be brave
          I wanna see you surviving
          I wanna see both of us
          Prospering and thriving separately
          
          I want the catharsis of knowing
          Something bad’s about to happen
          But also knowing that I can’t do anything about it
          Because your new house just don’t shut
          Quite like the one you grew up in used to
          I wanna come and visit
          I wanna see this through, but
          I never will because you’re just not what I need
          And I am just not what you want
          Though you’re in everyone I meet and
          
          We’ll say fuck the banks but we’ll still use them every day
          And when we fight amongst ourselves
          The banks will say “Okay
          Have you been spending all your capital on causes you deem just? You keep doing what you can, we’ll keep doing what we must.”
          So despite what you have learned
          In songs for which you’d take a bullet
          You won’t find objective truth
          In a final rhyming couplet
          A couplet, a couplet, a couplet...
          
          
          
          
          
          
          Excerpt from Banks by Lincoln
          Possibly my last message on this account
          Goodbye, I suppose

>~<

Abandoning this account, I think. Don't have much going for me here and memories hurt too much
          
          I might come back one day, probably not

Nobody is going to miss me when I'm gone. Guess I'm doing this again
          But nobody is going to care, nobody's gonna be able to stop me. The people that could have broken me and they don't care anymore and I can't fucking live anymore with this
          Everything hurts
          I just want it to stop but nothing can anymore