sometimes i feel like i spend
too much time creating
beautiful things
to be beautiful
myself
even if i'm
wasting away
in front of the computer --
-- as my mother likes to say
i'll never be wasted enough
to be considered
a tragic beauty
and the regular kind
is lost on me.

i don't really know
if i ever mattered
or if i ever will

god forbid i wonder if i *do

i don't think that missing someone or something
is defined by the things
that remind you of them
but by the fact that you slowly --
-- but surely
forget those things about them
like their voice
and their laugh
and the way they sang
when they were in the shower
because they thought you never listened
i think it's the forgetting
not the remembering
that drives people crazy
to the point of calling and
hanging up
just to hear that someone --
-- you just came to mind
say "hello"
one last time.

i want to be like the bee
and sting you everytime you say
i feel nothing
i'll only get to sting you once, really
i'd die for you and it scares me
but what's more terrifying than living for nothing
and if i do -- die for you -- i'll know:
a little stinger
the remains of myself
will always be part of me,
will always be part of
you.

remember when you loved me?
it's so strange to think
that you can't return me &
exchange me
for something better
to fill those three months
of your memory

no matter how long it's been
since you spoke to me
those 94 days will
always be filled
with us

i know i'm damaged goods
the blockbuster dvd
that came with a scratched disc
even if the case was pristine

my movie doesn't play
day after day
without you
my heart just sits
in this shell
of what i used to be

i remember the time
i was only damaged goods
fondly.

these days i am oh-so
empty
.

everybody talks about their boys
like they're daisy chains
or paper dolls
nearly identical and
dispensable
but for me there's only
you.

all i can say is
i'd really like to know
what it feels like
to wear your shirt
to sleep.