(washed out
and falling
through a pastel
hued autumn
into winter white
and worried)

thick and fuzzy
headed through
multi-toned rings
dimmed down
colorless jewelry
that doesn't fit me

(if i shut my eyes i
can see colors bouncing
through the gray
matter lost to time)

and i'm sorry
for who i've become
sorry for who
i always was

(shouting in colors
outside and
choked in monotones
where it matters)

yellow and navy
to match my
favorite pillowcase
the one place i've
found my head
feeling safe

(i love the darkness until
it swallows me whole
and i can't find my way
back into the light)*

a rose gold
regret
a lifetime of
my own
eyelids to
forget.

i'm scared
to death

(it will be exactly three
months before christmas)

and i don't
want to
find myself
alone that
night and
fighting

(it hurts to even
think about it
because i'm still so
low it sounds okay)

but i don't want
to go anywhere
be with anyone
because there
are demons we
have to deck ourselves
and dates we
have to face alone

(on the other hand
who knows what might
happen if i were alone
i don't even know)

and i just wish that
none of this had
ever happened but
oh well it did

and now i have to
face the terrible
pain of seeing the
rest of the fall

(the chill in my
knuckles on
halloween
the pie dough
under my nails
thanksgiving day)

and into
winter

(tape scrapped
palms before
christmas
hot mugs of tea
for the rest of
eternity)

and on and
on for the
rest of time
and i don't
want the
rest of time

(i'd take the clock
off the wall and
crank the hands
around backwards
to give myself a
second chance but
denial won't help
anything at all.)

i've always hated
feeling trapped.

"how do you
do it?" you
cried suddenly
as we walked.

"do what?"
i asked.

"balance things
on things that
shouldn't stay
but they do."

"i don't?"
i said
and remembered
that i do.

we decided
it must be
some vague
form of magic

that bowls never
fell off of tissue boxes
i never knocked
glasses of water
off of my bed frame
that terracotta pots
stayed put on water jugs
and the way i can
load a dish strainer
shouldn't be possible.

well
scratch that

because today at
eight a.m. i spilled
half a cup of
fresh coffee
all over my blanket
sheets shirt and ipod

nothing was
damaged just
smelling very
columbian

but i guess i'm
not magic after all.

i'm on top of the world
and waiting to crash

i'm glad summer
is over now
always had too many
false expectations
and winter is better
because everyone
sets the season's
standards low

(except for christmas
but **** christmas
except don't actually
**** christmas
because the pine needles
would probably hurt)

i just want the dishes all
washed and my bedroom
floor completely clean and swept
before i jump in front of a car

(go ahead and hang
me from the chandelier
it's not like i need
my neck in one piece)

but there's some kind of concept
stating that anything left to itself
will steadily grow worse so
if i go now it may just all decay

(flowers sprouting out
of the sink drain and the
ivy on the window taking
hold of the kitchen walls
grass meandering up
through my floorboards)

last week you promised
over cups of morning coffee
that you would do
anything to help me

but that was before
last night when i washed
the coffee *** five times
brewing out the limey residue
of all the things you've said
and this morning it tasted
slightly of vinegar and
i remembered that you
got so lost in old grocery receipts
inside plastic bags under the table
of your own colossal problems
that you just forgot.

(if i were less anxious i would
definitely be an arsonist by now)

and i don't know as
you know about that
concept the one i was
just referring to

(the one that explains
why procrastination
will **** us both
you in your femoral arteries
me in the vicelike death trap
of my ******* head)

because i don't know as
you know that behind
the mania in my eyes is
three four a.m.'s
two five a.m.'s
one six a.m.
and six months
of three a.m.'s.

every time i fry a fish i'm
mentally putting my face
against into the pan and
the lid over my eyes

(and you just want
salad for some reason)

i'm a paragon of raging
domesticity these days
and you're saying how right
you must have raised me

(really it was all your wrongs
that raised me right that way)

you keep accusing me
of being mad at you
so okay i'll just say i'm
******* mad at you

because you can't
control your house
or who lives in it
you can't even take
care of yourself which
means i could lose
you tomorrow and
you don't care that i'm
suffering and dying
just as slowly as you are

(somebody has to
take responsibility
for your actions and
i've always been handy)

you call me selfish when
i learned that from you

(hell only knows
everyone is at least
a little selfish some
just hide it better)

but the other thing you
taught me by example
is that if you want
something done
right you must
do it yourself

*(**** it all
you'll see one day
what i did for you
and **** it all
because i can't save
either of us but you
had better believe i
can clean a ******* house.)

it's really too bad
that nicotine
leads to addiction

and it's too bad
that street drugs
cost so much

too bad that
alcohol isn't
given to minors

too bad that
i can't afford
to properly
destroy myself

too bad that
i've always
felt the need to.

i've heard the songs
about killing pain

sounding like the only
way is with a vinyl
record and several
shots of something strong

(but pain isn't all
alcohol and turntables)

it's a stack of cds
still shrinkwrapped so
they shine like diamonds
a discard pile scratched and
cracked so i know that
life keeps skipping on

a fourth cup of coffee
to send my heart
rattling and my
hands shaking

(i've wished to be in
love before just so
my heartbreak could
someday be justified
but i can let the music
paint that picture easy)

buffering lyric videos
sprawled out in bed
watching the light grow
brighter behind the curtains

finding myself addicted
to pain and freezing cold
because i need the white
noise of a fan at night

*(but pain isn't all
alcohol and turntables
sometimes it's just old
boomboxes and black tea)

i'm going to be
woken up when
september ends to
i will see october first

(i'm scared to
death of living
but i'll try it for
awhile anyway)

and sure i lay
in bed until noon
most mornings
a hot dim
reconfigured dream
trying to find
reasons any
reason

(i couldn't today
didn't feel like music
didn't want coffee
didn't want to talk to friends
didn't want breakfast
didn't want to create
didn't want
didn't)

replaying your face
bathed in two a.m. blue light
telling me that i had to
keep going and that
maybe it was selfish
but you couldn't handle
the rest of your life
without me in it

(we were both crying
by the time we went to bed
and i'm crying again
when i think about it)

you know those mornings
when you wake up and know
that before the sun goes down
your face will have felt tears?

yeah it was
one of those

(and tears aren't pretty
just kind of watery)

and by the time i had a
cup of tea and was sitting
at the kitchen table i was
sobbing my eyes out

(i am so
tired)

i couldn't help it
can't help any of this

(i am so
*******
tired of being
broken in half)

and i am so
tired of fighting
to find a reason to
get out of bed.