"Why did you stay up so late?" she asked
Because my mind is a machine
And this machine controls my body
And this machine told me not to sleep
So instead we paced and we paced
And we paced until my body was tired
And than back to bed the three of us went
And we lie awake pondering -
All the things, minuscule and big-
That I can not, will not ever change
Until it reached the point of futility
My body ready and willing, begging
The machine resisting, pulling itself apart
"Just wait for the collapse" I told myself
Then and only then, will this machine-
Release it's grip on me
Then and only then,
Will I be allowed to sleep
Wait, what's that sound?
What's that sound?
It's must be the sound
of the answering machine
Please leave your message after the...
Show me, you say, show me the hallway.
Show me the bedroom, show me where we used to live. That tree, over there, with the apples.
You, and then not you.
You, crossed out.
You, in the windowsill
with your hair pulled back.
Take me, I say, take me like we're already dead.
You know how this ends.
My hands, your hands, harmony.
A lit match, maybe. And death itself, there beside us.
Fuck me, you know how,
you've done this before, I say, panic and soap that smells a bit too much like your brother's wake.
Play me a funeral song. Impress me, and you say,
what's left to impress?
And maybe I'm not the antichrist, but it's not like you are, either.
This, our hands, you, the radio stuck on one station, crossed out.
This isn't a temporary solution.
You're singing, I say, and you just keep on, say,
this isn't a funeral,
like it's none of my business.
The radio again, playing the only way it knows how.
The mountains, over there in the distance,
spying on us.
Your hands, my hands, tied up like knots, like
this is the only way we can love. But it’s not, is it,
don't you remember the treehouse?
Three blocks down the road a man has blood on his hands, and you are the man and you aren't, all at once.
You, me, clockwork.
A bell, tolling in the distance.
guess you shouldve thought about that
before you broke your mothers back,huh,sweetheart?
Soul of dew
Dried by midday.
‘Tis a sensible hour.
He is the one who is called
I am the one who is called
Soul of dew.
I am the one who is now
Into an evanescent being,
Only to dry
Much too soon.
Forgot soul of dew, hurled.
Soul of dew
Hurled, Forgot was too late.
I can feel the energy leaving my arms
As if there's nothing left to write.
It can't be true; however,
that there's nothing left to write
There's got to be something
That got dark fast.
I could write something,
I think I have the energy
But what to write about?