I traded my home town
For a city who never met me

Found out "the past"
Isn't a place you can escape
It's a state of mind
You could leave it all
Behind,
Get up
And just drive
But the parts that
Are left in your head
Are the parts that will survive
And they will dance around your bed
Until your thoughts are dead

I wake up some mornings
And all I want to do is vanish
Into my sheets
So I sleep
And I sleep
And I sleep
For as long as I can
But I guess
There is just no amount of rest
That can cure you from feeling
Tired of your life

We're caught somewhere between
falling in love with ourselves
and wishing we were someone else

The gift of observance comes rushing back
As half-lit skies circumvent in upheaval
Seeing the hidden guise for what we all lack
I quick deduction spawns an intent retrieval
Grasping the whole of what my peers are concealing
A half-*** attempt to make sense of these feelings

All of these words are so hollow and insignificant
Pleading a case as if they have a sense of morality
A conceded hope that ends up as a wasted expedient
The building block pieces to a straight willed society
Fixated mortification's that serves as our propriety
Keeping our relative outlook as my favorable notoriety

So little depends
upon

This physical
object

And this here
too

or even this
really

Oh darling,
I've been at this game for a long, long time.
I can play it like a fiddle, this little tune.
I can win at it like a gladiator.
It was only a moment that I thought you noticed
The blood caked under my fingernails.
I realized quick
You thought it was mud
From the grave I'd dug out of.

Us here in the gutter,
We can't afford to be righteous.
We know our kind. We know our hearts.
For whatever I may be,
A little weak, a little cruel, a little vicious,
A little unfair
At least I have no delusions.
I refuse to dress up
The wickedness in me.
I am what I am, take it or leave it.

(You've left it,
Whether or not you admit it to yourself:
I hear it in the sharp edges of your voice
A How dare you?
As if I'm causing so much pain to the shambling masses
By managing mine through wit.
Cut me a break, with your broken chinadoll fingers,
Because I am shards on the floor
Doing my best.)

But I will recover:
I've been at this game for my entire life.
I am
Superb
At being abandoned.
You'll not see a thing from me-
It is my art.
Not a single tear, not a quirk in my smile,
You'll not hear a false note in my laugh
And I
Will always be laughing when it hurts
Because that
Is when it counts.
I am the warmer, the more charming, the life of the party,
The spark
Of the conversation
When I am hurting.
It
Is
My
Art.

I can play this tune like a fiddle,
And your mind with it.
My claws and fangs are my smiles
My "Go ahead, it's fine"s.
You'll feel not a whisper of resistance from me,
You'll see not a flicker of hurt
When with a flick of your tongue you lash me to ribbons
Over the pain I've disguised poorly for a moment-
For I'll not be so careless again: work will go into my outlets
So that no gauche misspeech can provide a thread for you to tug
And unravel me- no.
You'll see none of it, now that I am truly prepared.
Come to the rescue, guns blazing!
Add your bullets to the holes in my chest
Protecting someone who can more than handle
Little, limping old me.
I won't let it get me down
That you turn on a dime, dear.
Cause honestly, the only thing I have learned consistently from this life is:
                                                                               *You only lose
                                                                                  If you care.