The very first thing I learned about you was your ex-communication from Mormonism. Did you really try teaching a preschool class that Jesus was a Rastafarian? Or was that one of your many big fish tales told to me over the years?

This was when you were only a mischievous high-schooler. Not the cynic you are today, worn down after choosing the safest choices life can offer. When did a clever person like you acquiesce to such homogeneity? Somewhere between your Economist-reading days in undergrad and law school? I know you claim the reason was something about getting your heart broken one too many times. And yes, I know I whacked it around like a pinata... as you did mine. Because that's what reckless kids do. Will you ever accept this as an excuse? Or will you always use it as the reason to avoid my calls?

Back at the age of 15, though, you could do no wrong. A shy smile was all you'd see from me, but I'd go to bed dreaming of all of the clever things I wanted to say to you. My friends would later say you exploited your teaching role as my debate tutor... but me? I was totally, utterly, and blissfully enamored by your explanation of Foucault and FoPo. I'm convinced the reason you fell in love with me was because I wrote a letter to Crayola pretending to be 5 in hopes of getting a free pack of crayons. You liked that kind of smart *** behavior because it was the kind of stuff that made you come alive. Which reminds me... do you still have the "#1 bestseller" sign you swiped from the grocery store? You wore it in your back pocket while wearing your "I spoil my grandkids" t-shirt.

How appropriate that our first kiss was on the debate room couch. I'm glad kissing was, in fact, better for you with your braces removed. And how appropriate that my first date was you taking me to the high school musical, "Kiss Me Kate."

What is it about first loves that make even the most mundane so magical? I can't tell you the number of times I looked out the window in hopes of seeing your red Ford Escort pull up. It took my breath away more than any Mercedes could. Who knows what we'd do when you did come over--probably play Donkey Kong Country, or watch some ironic movie like Donnie Darko. If nobody was home we'd make out to the Disney "Fantasia" soundtrack.

Back then you were always intrigued with the whimsical. Nowadays it's 1940s classics, malt scotch and Coachella concerts. I think your career ***** you so dry of life that you overcompensate with your expensive tastes. The wildest you'd ever get was smoking a hookah. But the guy I remember? He liked pocket watches, Rufus Wainwright, and Harry Connick Jr. I know you're a responsible tax-paying adult now, but I still see you as the wild-eyed wholesome troublemaker you once were. I prefer you that way, even if it's mentally dishonest of me.

Since you, men have wined and dined me at world-renowned resorts and have taken me to presidential *****. But none of these dates have given me the same rush of euphoria as sneaking out and spending the night with you in the home you were house-sitting: That night, we were a pair of 16-year-old rebels. At least we didn't get caught by the cops making out in the high school's agriculture department parking lot. That would happen in a few months' time.

Then you left for college, to gain an education and have experiences that sounded overwhelming for my sheltered ears. It didn't matter that I left for Europe that year--you had left for college, which was a distance in my head that couldn't be measured geographically.

I could recall a thousand barbs exchanged from then until we both finished college: you dated her. I dated him! We made promises. We broke promises. You'd come home for summer. We relished in the relatively new-found art of *******, mostly perfected on each other in our youth. We'd hate each other. We'd love each other. Your friend would hate me; my sister would hate you. On it would go.

But there were such sweet times. We saw Harry Potter together and we sat on my roof, imagining that one night could stretch til forever as we looked up at the stars. It was then that you dedicated Coldplay's "Yellow" to me. And no expression of love was greater than seeing you in the back of the auditorium, waiting to drive me home after my 6th period drama class.

I honestly don't know the person you are today. Sure, you give me snippets. Usually when some girl breaks your heart and you need to vent. In truth, I know you saw me as your plan B. Always. Shame on me for playing that part so beautifully for so long. Could we have worked out, you and me? I smile, knowing that some things from the past should stay firmly rooted where they are. There would always be a part of me that would feel like that freshman trying to impress you, a senior. All the while I wouldn't feel funny enough, cool enough, witty enough by comparison. No, we simply wouldn't work.

You know the rule, about loving your family because they're the only one you've got? I think the same is true with first loves. When I reflect on our oh-so-ordinary relationship, you--I mean, US: we weren't so great. Nothing special.

But my heart sure seems to think you were... even after all of these years.

I'm getting derealization twenty-four/seven;
Unreality has made alterations
unto my perception.

Donnie Darko awoke in bewildered displacement,
I too arose to this disconcerting amazement.
Found myself lying on green grass
at a golf course twisted by Alice In Wonderland.
Checkered tiles black-and-white
and pine trees swaying in the half-light.
Familiar faces put me at ease, an acid blotter
got emptied.
Got dosed in my dreams. Got on my knees.
Was tripping in my sleep.
What would it mean for when I woke up?

This dream didn't stop.
I woke up but my mind did not.
Reality wasn't enough.
Disassociation followed me home.

I woke up
but kept dreaming. The walls felt soft
and the colors were peeling.
I have felt this before,
Felt the days double over;
My mind lucid,
Fatigued no more.

fireflies only come out at night,
or maybe we just can't see their gleams of light
in the daytime

this was a lonely day
where my step father took me back to the western shore
to be alone again
companionship is not easy to come by these days,
buried in life's sad and sorry sands
regardless of all that has been good
there has always been the subtle reek of the bad

i don't know jesus,
but i hear he's a great guy
i don't know you,
but i know you're the only real answer, the only reasons why

and we pollute the rivers with reckless abandon,
and we let our children drown in it's poison
and when the sky opens up, there will be nothing left,
nothing but you, and him, and the lives that you have touched.

To an Alice that could've been: I toy with the idea of future memories, contingent to past moments. Let's pretend it fades in from white. Now, there she is, summer dress flopping up and down on the trampoline like the opening and closing of a sunflower umbrella. She is a chronic smiler. And when her mouth isn't smiling, you can bet her eyes surely are. Or maybe her 4-year-old dimples. Anyhow, you can always be sure to find it buried in some characteristic of that face so round from laughing and so familiar to her mother. She charms, she brings joy, she shows the love of love. She makes the moon shine and my sun rise.

To a Dakota that could've been: The fading once again comes to clarity. There he is. In some statement of fashion not yet fit for an eighth grader. He doesn't care. He would if his father didn't wear it. Look at him: screaming at his mom for space, for some angsty, undefined sense of freedom and individuality. He's inherited more than the tie clip.

To a Becca that could've been: You always were and always will be. There is no fading for you, only a dramatic finish: the curtains meet in the middle and sway for a few seconds while the audience continues to clap, continues to cry, continues to wait for another Act. There is doubt to whether or not the lights will return or whether the curtains will open again, accompanied by such fanfare as to be sublime.

To a Darko that could've been: Don't wait for me, please. You can truly be fulfilled without me in your life. Don't wait to grow your hair out. Don't wait to try acid for the first time. I won't be there to hold your hand, I won't be there to physically hurt you when you make me feel worthless as a parent, and I surely won't be there when you see your mom cry for the first time. You'll cry too. And I'll know why.

Make me proud, Dakota.
Make me smile, Alice.
Make me remember, Becca.

Make her happy, Darko.

It's
dangerous to be on anything that isn't a precipice.
**** your flat-footed surety!
Sometimes the
solidarity
you stand on
is far too smoothed over by
heat and applause
for you to try to
walk it without a razor-sharp railway
under you.
Like,
that scene in Donnie Darko where
the rainbow bubbles know
which step you'll take
to
the fridge, the couch, the TV.
I'm talking about irony!
How
it's the only way to not slip.
Someday you'll
realize
how the great Dog above
didn't always mean for us
to be so
literal.

sometimes it hits me really hard,
like in an instant, my world is backwards
and my heart is being squeezed too tightly-
just enough to hurt like hell.

i'm suddenly drowning in blankets
that smell like us
and pillows that have
blood stains on them,
my eyeliner is smeared and
my hair is a mess.
i'm back in your basement,
and i don't know how to leave.

we're eating dinner while watching
fringe, supernatural, chuck,
and your dad made me my own pasta
(i love that man to an indescribable extent).
i look over at you and suddenly something changes.

your eyes have gotten darker,
your hair is knotted and your face older,
your laugh has faded away.
you went and grew up without me.
you make me nervous, sweets,
and i know i've already lost you.
you scare me, kid.

i'm trying to leave,
trying to hurry past the quilt on your wall
and the screaming cat on the stairs.
i'm attempting to escape the fear
that you've instilled in me.

but i realize that the thing i fear
is a whole different person
than the one i ate pretzels with
and fell asleep with while watching
donnie darko and **** bill.
he isn't the one who
sang songs to me, or
tickled me until i was sobbing, or
looked at me as if i was
the best girl in the world.
this was a whole new person.
and i didn't know a single
thing about him.

so now when all of this hits me
and i realize it's completely real,
that i lost my best friend and
the man i wanted to marry,
i realize that i've been
mourning this for a year now.
i lost him a long time ago.
i've dealt with this already.
i can smile now,
i can laugh.
i can finally be me again.

and while i know i'll always love him,
i can just remember those better years,
when we'd watch scary movies in the dark
and play myst and nancy drew in my basement.
i can just remember him as the boy
with summer across his cheeks
and a grin that made me giddy.
he was the healing i always needed and
i can never thank him enough.

quote
"every living creature on earth dies alone"
word to donnie darko

and i can no longer endure the limitations set within the confines of this unrelenting soul
unwilling and yet eternal slave to capitalism with a damaged price tag
therefore,
i am unfit to be sold

but **** it,
grab your coat cause you better believe it's gonna get very cold
while we take a stroll
through the catacombs of our infrastructure
but you should be very wary of corporate black holes
where i hear democracy is  supposed to console

but alas,
im out here and im ******* white water rafting in student loans
humans living on south congress without a place to call home
meanwhile we're ranting and raving about the newest iphone
and totally unrelated,
but i swear to god rick perry is the ******* antichrist
he may possess some obscure remnant of a mind but he does not possess a soul

so whilst immersed in melancholia,
i guess i will simply enjoy my cup of tea
within the mists of burning buildings
i hear hell is a place devoid of logic and reason
and if that is true, then so be it
i decree
that this plane of existence is the epitome of pain and suffering with no guarantee of alleviation, comfort, or consolation
just death, ****, and disease
oh this life,
this life that we lead is vacant of any inherent meaning
and everything that you could possibly see is the product of absurdity

but as for me
i am but a hallucination, delusion, or fabrication
either way you spin it i do not actually exist
and with that as a matter of fact i am very complacent

i am cynical and consumed with self-hatred
but do not be mistaken
**** your scores i am not here for commiseration
simply put, i just needed somewhere to say this

I'm watching Donnie Darko with the lights on
And I'm thinking about all my old friends
And how I've wasted all these years, but I coped with most of my fears, and you know: things seemed different then.

And if you fall apart, the bottom is a good place to start when you have to pick yourself back up again.
And if you're falling down, when you hit the ground, give it a kiss and realize this: you know, it's not too late to be the end.

And I fell in love with all the things that make me human. I forgave myself and everyone else too. And I stopped looking for the answers. They're still there, but they're different for me and you.

And if someone tells you no one cares, please know that that's not true.

An image or a shadow, I can’t make out which,
Is moving in a Donnie Darko style time portal
Out of my chest in front of me.
And I’m forever thinking, will time and space ever merge
To create moments like those again?
Or will it forever be replayed in an Arthaus theatre in my stalling, staring head.
Is it always my burden to bear? Of course, I damaged you like nothing else had.
The face behind the camera peers out of objects you gave me and it has never left.
It’s no longer sharp or clear, not biting or ringing,
No surprise, no puffy, love-broken eyes  
Yet still it tears me apart.

I remember us all sneaking across fences to grab the cooler full of beers she said were behind her dad's house. The back lights came on and we became swift as wind, running down alongside the river bank laughing and choking drunk all of us were. But we got our beers.

I remember leaving the house party, stumbling from one side of town to the other, smashing every pumpkin I saw along the way. When you found me, I was dazed. You said you just followed the guts along side the road and smiled.

I remember the bonfire at the moon towers, they drove off the flats in a fit of youth and invincibility. I half heartedly mocked, "they're gonna wreck. " Two hours later we picked them up from the side of a dirt, gravel, road as they walked away from the shattered glass and mangled trees. He still thanks me to this day for the ride home.

I remember walking down the street with you and that ******* my back, the street in front of your house. We all looked up for some reason and saw that ghostly flash of light pass across the front of the light pole. We froze, and then calmly walked back to your front porch, ours brains wracked with what it could have been. We still don't know.

I remember seeing you at her funeral, you were torn down and she was being laid to rest at an age much to young, only 15. You were with your new boyfriend but you still said you wished it was me by your side and for a moment life didn't seem so grey and hazy. I still never apologized for being who I was. I'm sorry.

I remember more about the sleepy little town we all grew in than I care to admit, holding all these moments close to my heart. It was the only place that felt like it accepted me. Even now that everyone is gone and our shades haunt that high school, I still feel a presence when I go back home to visit. Our little Donnie Darko town.

morrissey said "to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die" and donnie darko said "every living creature on earth dies alone"
and maybe we're thrusting ourselves ourselves into the unknown
but from what i know the birds tell us stories with their wings and the sky is a lot more beautiful than his hands ever were to me and the overgrowth in the woods holds more passion than my eyes do some nights
when we walk through this world, we are doing so alone

to die on your own is a way most people don't want to go.

we have shipwrecks in our hearts and thunderstorms under our fingernails and sometimes i swear to god i can hear the rain in your exhale and highways never come to a complete end so why should we

comatose linked to these tombstones and the way you never understood what her eyes were saying when her lips couldn't move
i keep thinking back to the sunday mornings i found god in and i see the exasperation staining my knees from all the pleas i was sending back to me

maybe we have to see our own blood on the pale white concrete before we can understand what love is or what the sunset really means and i guess i'm saying i lost so many parts of me that i mopped up the blood and rung it out into the veins of a creature you'll never meet

to die in the passengers seat of a car with your heart on your sleeve and their saliva still on your lips is the way most people want to give death it's first kiss

we are brooding through the wavelengths of familiarity and unfamiliarity all at once and we chant deja vu when we meet someone new because they say the last thing you see when you die is those you love so what do we do when we **** the things we once knew and love all things brand new

to die by my own side is such a heavenly way to say goodbye.

how to clear polluted air
in darkness i sit and i stare
at my wall and at my bed
there is a man in a bunny head

he watches me sleep every night
i lay awake awaiting fright
the bunny man can clearly see
how terrified i am to be
sleeping in a room with him
exposing me to all his sins

i need to find a way to ****
the bunny man who wants to fill
my brain with all these eerie thoughts
i see my body
my flesh rot
i know with time i will decay
the longer that bunny man stays
i need to accept im alone
and maybe that earth’s not my home

I'm re-watching Donnie Darko
because I like it
but mainly because I know you like it
and maybe I'm just trying to think of you
not that I have to try

The Phobophobia Collection – P is for Phobophobia


I’ve got 99 problems and my woman does not exist… so she ain’t one.
I’ve got 99 problems now my woman is gone.
I used to have one hundred problems
And only one that mattered;
But now the only thing I have got,
Is this feeling of feeling shattered.


I have dreamed of not having insomnia,
For what literally seems like forever.
I truly can’t be happy,
Rain or shine or any weather
And whatever the occasion I am down in the dumps;
Found this manic personality and man it *****!


Oh look; I have met a beautiful woman.
Oh my!  She must be my true love!
She said hello!
Oh she must be the one!

But now she is talking to somebody else,
On her stupid phone…


Thank you life; I really taught myself a lesson,
To never even try to be happy,
I will never have a family,
So I’ll fetch myself some rope
And a broken pen
And a rose for my rose,
To remember me when…


I woke up depressed again…
I did not go to sleep this way.
I had an amazing nightmare last night,
But all memory of it has gone away…


Half way through a conversation,
Or when I pass through a threshold,
I sneeze like I have a cold,
But I am not ill, or so I have been told.
Where are my keys?
What was I talking about?
What the Hell!?
Where was I going?
Did I put the food in the oven?
Or did I leave it out?
Did I lock the door?
I will check once more,
Then I will check it again and again
And again to be sure.


They say I mask my sadness,
With my pathetic attempt at what I call humour;
But I refuse to listen!
And laugh like a mad man,
As they spread their vicious rumours,
About…my precious!


If I had an imaginary friend,
I guess that she would have to be a Princess,
For she could only ever exist, inside my head
And she would eventually leave, because I am so very boring.
I have no desire to speak to men,
Because their conversations only leave me snoring.


Why do you look so les miserables?
I was born this way!
I have apathy to faking smiles;
Get out of my way!
I have to leave this planet,
There are far too many people.
There is a call for you…
I don’t want to speak, I can’t take the trouble.
I foresee a future and it will only be evil,
Asking “How the Devil are you today?”
I sarcastically reply, oh yeah…I am great!  
With no smile on my face
And my dark empty eyes…
How I hate human beings…
Donnie Darko had it right.


Send me a new broken engine,
So I don’t have to speak to them again…
But…I want to be your friend…
Well I want to get to the bitter end…
But I want to be your girlfriend…
Believe me you are all better off if I am dead;
Rather that, than have to deal with me and my lack of empathy.
So much empathy!  
It is killing me!
Hannibal Lector’s got nothing on me…


I guess I had better stop writing this truth,
For I don’t want you to see my ugly face or my mania.
My body’s dysmorphic disorder is no stranger than I am;
But there is one in the mirror.
Who is that arrogant, narcissistic man?
I will self-diagnose…but I will not type into Google ‘Thanks’.


The past is still the present
And I guess I am agnostic when it suits me,
But I want to go Heaven!
I don’t believe a thing
And I am sick to death of my repeated reincarnations.


My entire existence is flat-lining;
So worthless, like everything,
And I feel so tired, like, all of the time
And I can’t even rhyme,
So I repeat the same lies.
So tell me what is the point?
There clearly is no point…


Stop writing this garbage,
Nobody wants to read it.
I don’t even want to have to write it,
But I am enslaved and completely compelled…

I guess in a while,
I will reach the finish…

Oh my God…
What is this fresh Hell?


(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

I wasn’t meant to get this far but did
I skated by
I cheated death
I have slipped through cracks in promises
And taken 34.6 million last breaths
And I’m still breathing
Didn’t bleed enough, the times that I was bleeding
An alternate reality of many narrowly avoided
fatal wrecks

I have died, now,
At least 4 to 5 to maybe 7 times
And when I think of all my parallel-selves I often find myself in envy of their eyes
And how they’re closed
How they can’t see- just how bizarre the story gets
But I’m the strongest one
I am the Lauren who has not died yet

if i had to list my three favorite movies,
today i might say: Across the Universe, Donnie Darko, and The ****** Suicides
(basic *****)
mainly for the aesthetics
the way the camera or lighting makes the scene
and i have colors stuck in my head from my own life images,
mostly pale blues
all in your room
(the comforter, the hue of the tv screen, your eyes)
it's all about angles, and i get the perfect view while perched on your chest
wish all the colors and lighting from the scenes in my head reflected more in my actions, you'd never get bored of me then.

Stay in bed until your body hurts from staying in bed,
Gain 5 pounds,
Go through a nasty breakup,
Distance yourself from every bit of humanity,
Feel bad that you're distancing yourself from every bit of humanity

Get spontaneous bangs,
Think about the universe and human socialization,
Decide maybe it's just not for you.
Decide that's silly.

Get another piercing,
Decide you hate your bangs,
Decide you like your bangs.
Tell people to call you the little drummer boy,
Pa *** pum pum pum.
Remember that people support you regardless of anything previously mentioned.

Decide you're still a good person.
Mostly.

Have an ongoing Harry Potter marathon as a coping mechanism.
Because Harry wouldn't do this to you, okay
Be reminded of your childhood,
Miss being a kid.

Immerse yourself deeper into more cult classics.
Is Donnie Darko god?

Wonder how people describe you to others.
Get really insecure about how people describe you to others.
Realize you're normal,
Realize everyone thinks about this.

Like about existing
And the butterfly effect
And how it's important that you're here.

Realize you're glad you're here too.

i like to make lists: one thing per month for what i’m looking forward to
(reasons why i shouldn’t die)
i like to start with february (because january is overrated and ******) --anyway:
february: my best friend’s birthday
march: ****--
okay, okay, let’s start over:
february: valentine’s d-- ****. that doesn’t help.
i like to alternate years between being badass and single and laughing with friends over how awful dating is, and buying myself chocolate and watching hallmark movies all day.
pathetic.
let’s try this one more time:
february: my best friend’s birthday
march: spring break spent with friends going anywhere but home
april: rain instead of snow
may: the end of the school year-- finals week ***** but it’s just a week of stress and then i’m done--
june: warm weather
july: so much sunshine that i forget about my depression
august: catching up on sleep that i lost all year (lost all summer staying up with the warm weather)
september: sales on office and school supplies, notebooks and paper
october: halloween
november: half-winter, half-autumn movies, nightmare before christmas, donnie darko
december: christmas and peppermint mocha
january: pretending like everything is a fresh start even though i know that i’ll just be worsening my same old bad habits (it’s okay, my frontal lobe won’t be done forming for another six-to-eight years anyway)
february: my birthday, watching all the scratches and scars from other people and things start to fade.

Thy humble cancer has healed from its on demise. Let the Gods speak on things that’s not and my beloved Capricorn will understand just how deep the water is!
No longer will the waves rush to be mad nor will my heart come to the surface…
If you find my heart then it is yours but!… this is your warning this is the sound that harkens the beast within the sea!
Be warned
I be set you the kraken of old
The spirit of my ancestors
You will see my face and hear the roar of a new empire
Crown who you want
My snake,  the Virgo that kraken of old!
This will not be easy

I wouldn't say discontentment/
More like discomfort/
I'm anxious; might be slightly anguished/
Fine... dysfunctional/
Humanity's an infernal machine/
Forever malfunctioning/
And everyone's too impatient/
To read the instruction manual/
Insatiable; thoughts eat themselves/
Then regurgitate/
Tired vampire at the beach/
Bursting into flames/
Burning through the bank/
Wormhole in pocket universe/
Blowing up our lives/
Fill up your thirdeye socket with dirt/
No funeral; they don't even mourn/
I grieve different/
Seem difficult... anticonformist/
Sorry I ruined the party/
I am a walking trigger warning/
Donnie Darko at the golf course/
Stop trying to treat me like a normie/
Most people ignore me/
And it used to make me question/
But being seen is worse/
When they ask too many questions/
It is what it is/
I wouldn't say discontentment/
More like discomfort/
No bad blood, accept the Qadr of Allaah/
I don't know their intentions/
But I feel the tension./

Meanwhile  back at the bungalow.......we return to the disturbing scene,
The unsung hero
Off center ,struck a pose ,
Face grimaced ,
Still ,
Stoic ,
Alone ............
Not counting
Toys in the attic......
That and the carnage of collateral damage.......
Covered in the remains
Of bags he brought full of
Everything from morality to mortality,intentions,malignant vengeance .....and open ended scenarios fallen crest ego and
Self induced ticks and twitches
Wraught by  a lifetime of  
"shoulda said ,wished I woulda and coulda been "
All these ,
And all his family and friends
Pretend to be shocked at
Cationic  discontinued
***** boy they once counted on....
Gone   too far into his psyche
Burning the midnight oil
On how far can we
Leave behind the point
Of no return
To learn if it could be
A correlation to the feeling free...
Or is it a paved path into a
Wasteland he's hunting for
Anything that be more
Fulfilling than being high
Up on the watch tower .wondering why ....
Are they running and asking why


Alone
In the gloaming

Motionless.

Stoic
see me
Ground zero in the beginning
The faze of the  full moon caught in the eclipse of a maddening
****** of crows

A hidden  maelstrom grows
The quest continues...

Metaphorically

As  fractal tracks flow
Following the personified  Donnita Darko down rabbit holes
Underground she gives in to easily .......
Conditioned to believe
That domestication
Equals castration.....
Slips out before the train leaves the station........
On
Nocturnal  
Internal I go
We find
What I thought this entire time ...
The simple complicated truth
Is ..... This.......
Idk!

You make me.....
Stop my life a..n..d....I
Forget  me
for a while
Which i guess is all right ......
But then again
Not really.
I pretend to be tough
And on the outside I play amused...
You dont make me............
Stay .
I choose .
In secret I dont
And I do
You dont....
I will
You wont
Care.
Unless i leave
Then you do
But I dont
You do
I cry.
Cause you dont
I D K W T F to do
Im so consumed
Life contusion
Stuck on stupid
Cupid changed up ta sticky rat trap paper
emotion in motion
Still........
Not movin
Confused
Burnt
Thought you were the one.....
You wernt
Currently caught up under your icy gaze
Your love is
A donny Darko maze
like an under water
House of mirrors
And each chamber .....
If you get there has a little pocket of poisonous perfumed air
This is the reason behind my glazed over stair
Dazed in a field of thirteen leaved clover
Grazed by the bullets
Residue proves
Came  from your revolver
You always wanna roleplay
I used to
Untill you introduced me to my permanent role
Its Termial
whips and chains Cold water and
shock collar
Big baller shot caller
You make me be Andy.........
Kaufman and
Your Jerry Lawler
Matter of fact
I take that back
Ther was a short stint when i played the part of one of Jerry's kids
Remember?
You played Jerry
.........
..Springer and left me there
Like lumpy from leave it to ******
Walking on eggshells covered by landmines
Sometimes im allowed to be
Tony....
Clifton
Then again you and I are never on the set at the same time
Fine
You play
I stay ...i..........
Hurt in so many ways
My souls bruised you never say "we"
Miss independent
You  say I.
Unless of course something offensive has been done
DuN dUn DuN
From
spring to spring
Dumb dumb
Lucky me
Im your Fall Guy