I've slipped in the trip
of another;
these walls ain't
lookin' the same.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
it's not me
in my brain.

She crawled inside
and made me think
that my pride
wouldn't make me weak.
Now she gloats
and claims it's love,
but **** that floats
will still rise above.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
I can't tell
if it's real.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
I'm not sure
how to feel.

She said things
to make me blush
and when we touched
it was quite the rush.
Now I fear
that when she's near
I really would
like to disappear.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
how could this
happen to me?

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
why couldn't I
let it be?

She did things
to break my mind
then she'd go
and say it's fine.
She did things
to break my heart.
Ill-intent
from the very start.

I see the morning light.
I won't make it home tonight.
Ya know, I'll be lost in the dawn.
This is how time moves on.

I hope you're waiting for me,
to keep me company.
But I've been gone for too long.
This is how time moves on.

If my house is empty,
and you've packed up and gone,
then you've forgotten about me.
This is how time moves on.

If you're sitting there, lonely,
wondering where I've gone,
I'll never forget about you.
I won't let time take all.

I've been across the country;
I've seen what love can do.
They've all forgotten about me.
This is what time does to you.

He brought her along,
only wanting to get laid.

She introduced herself
as awkward, 'though
first impressions rarely
amount to truth.

I watched him flirt with her;
and watched her try to pull away.
But, it's Friday. Gotta get ****** up.
What else is there to do in life?

She drank more,
he drank more:

"Nah, guys, I'm totally cool to drive."
He slurred as he spun donuts
to impress the tipsy woman.
His hands inched to her thighs.
His eyes seized her *******;
who needs to see the road?

We made it to the birthday,
a standard college party.

She and I sat across one another
at the table. She smiled and started
small talk:
"Oh, I love Vonnegut,
have you read Sirens of Titan?"

We kept drinking as he went out
to pick up more *****.

"Of course I play video games,
they got me through high school."

He took longer than he intended
but neither of us complained.

"Isn't chemistry only
the language of biology?"

Time passed quickly, or slowly,
either way it's dead and buried.
She started to stumble,
huddled closer to me,
tried to move from him
when he returned.
She lost coherency,
she looked at me, muddied;
did she have something to say?

Had she asked,
she would have received,
but silence heralds silence
and unvoiced wants
remain unfulfilled.

He knew she was loosing interest,
that, of course, I'd gotten in the way.
He pulled me aside:
"It's time for you to leave.
I just want to get laid
and you're ******* it all up."

He drove us both home,
hand grasping her thigh,
but she didn't notice;
she was barely alive.

I suppose this is how it goes:
some nights you make friends
that you never see again.

You're feeling ******,
like nothing'll go your way.

You're feeling ******,
so you'll lay in bed all day.

Life is heavy,
you know, the sky ain't blue.

Life is heavy,
like nobody cares about you.

Your mind is aching,
you can never be glad again.

Your mind is aching,
and how your thoughts will spin.

You're feeling ******,
no one else could feel this way.

You're feeling ******,
so you'll clutch your knees, and pray:

*Why go up,
if I always come down?

Why go up,
if I always hit the ground?

Error code: PXZ003-2-b:
"WAIT"

Blinking blindly,
unaware of absurd metaphysics,
the device flashes its advice.

For years now, probably; no one's sure.
The rest of the machinery's in pieces;
save this one brilliant gem of advice,

slowly sipping energy through
a dingy solar panel:

just enough to keep going

A red light blips
on the untended prophet,
yellow caution tape draping
impotently in shreds --

although there is an allure
to what fabrics conceal.

He sees none of this.
At first.

He arrives in a huff,
swearing and panting.
Pacing nervously, he lights
a spliff and throws his head back.

"I know I haven't been around much,"
he speaks in a vaguely upward direction,
"but some people say you're listening,
and that you take requests."

He laughs, flicks some ash,
and lets a sigh creep out.

"Just. Just. **** it, I don't know.
Give me a sign, anything. I'll listen."

He inhales and snuffs the roach
on his sole.
The serenity of stillness marches
in as a pallbearer with an empty casket.

A red light catches his
peripherals.

He walks to the device,
removes the dress,
and uncovers divinity.

How could he deny the voice of fate?
He waits.

Should I remember what I could forget?
Of days palled by fetid gossamer crowns?
Of this skeletal hand clutching a cigarette?
Of living in mockery amongst circus clowns?

When fabric tears in criss-crossed patterns
and crystal castles recede -- disguised --
I hang, with heavy heart, these lanterns
to guide beyond such self-demise.

Somehow I find that my life runs in place;
like everything I've done is vacant space:

She knocked on my door, the other day.
She invited me out to the woods, to play.

She was wired on something, dilated eyes;
she couldn't get over how we all will die.

There were tears in the tree-trunk as rain came down;
we were huddled together on the outskirts of town.

She gave me a hug, and glanced far away;
it must have hurt to know I wouldn't stay.

A few days passed, in the silence of life;
there's nothing to say while you're waiting to die.

Then Thanksgiving dinner with strangers (or friends?),
though this time they stumbled over caps and stems.