Talk is cheap but still feels too expensive.
when did my heart and mind end on the for-rent list.
I would play you any song but only disappointment is on the set list.
I'll ask the genie at the bottom of the bottle for that last wish.

I might always be sad, but you'll never not be a liar
I hope these things come to you in those lonesome hours
I'm still buring with all of my passion
But worthless were my words and actions.
You get what you give, all you do is take
I hope I see the day your skeleton crumbles and your bones break.

In my car on another late Wednesday night
The blues have taken over
Nothing but silence and the cigarette smoke leaving out of my window
Cars pass by with families in them
While I'm cold and tired
They pay no attention to me but I know them very well already
They're not satisfied with how they're life turned out
Nobody is ever happy enough
And nobody can solve the problems that really matter
We as a people request a more satisfying taste in our mouth
A more beautiful sight to see
Or we will grow disrespectful and resentful to our surroundings
As we have seen them many times before
We as a people know that this will not change and we are all stuck in hell

Gangling ghosts cause trouble inside
this meaty microwave--
I am on these streets and don't know
how I got here.
I'm carrying 2% milk, in my left hand,
and a carton of extra-large eggs in my right--
I drop the jug and it bursts. I joke about how
I still have 2%, but no one laughs because
no one has ever really been around to hear me.
So, I'm scrambling eggs and wishing I had that
milk because who doesn't like voluminous eggs.
I stop whisking and ask who is there.
Why am I afraid of you, Why am I afraid of you
the raw scrambled eggs on the floor, touched by
ceramic seashells.
And it's you.
You are the Lord, a naked lover, that absence
caused by my auto-pilot parents
Forever,
right here.

There is no story as romantic as
the sun dying for the moon every night,
but we all know how that ends.
True love never crossing paths
with each other's skin.

Maybe what we have isn't true love
and all the romantic moments
of curling her charcoal hair between
my fingers is just an effect from the drugs.

There are men killing innocent children
who will never grow up to watch us stare
into each other's eyes.

Now, there's murderers on the television
who will get more recognition than those
who fight for love and not for blood.

I wish she could see the way
my fingers shake when they are
gripping her skinny frame.

No, I am not thinking about her.
My mind is more focused on the death
of my poor soul who was trapped
underneath all the memories
she made sure she got rid of.

I think I’m falling again.
Maybe its the gravity
pulling me back down
to earth and waking me up,
but maybe its my mind
showing me I am not the normal girl
I am striving to be.

Please believe my smile.
I promise its real
in some sense,
in some way.
I can honestly say
I was okay for so long.

I know the way
you view me as I
walk through the halls.
I do not agree with your
judgements of a book
by its broken and cracked cover.
You do not know my heart
nor my darkening mind.

I urge you to stay back
and to never try to understand me,
because I am not so easy.
I am nothing but a puzzle
with rounded edges which
do not fit together.

I do not want you to get hurt
or to think I am pushing you away
because I am trying to protect you
from these obsessive hands
that reach out from my mind.
Please, stay away.

someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand"