some songs i will always like
others songs i have long lost use for

so there is no song for you
all these years later
a quarter of a century
is too many years for someone like you
even for someone like me

you looked like everything was catching up to you
as your face hung, stubble showing through
your make-up

did you ever try and leave this town
this small, expensive town
you never left it
well i did and sadly came back

it was raining
when you got off at the stop
in the bad neighborhood

probably the closest place to town you could afford
i wondered if you weren't doing well finacially
and smiled to myself
remembering you telling me i was so ugly
on many different occasions, a few times
as you burnt incense in your bedroom
making shapely hand guestures in the air,
playing and counting your many cassette tapes
as pictures of madonna looked down
her mole and redlipstick

still look down for you
because you were dressed
the same way you were dressed
in highschool

long black overcoat to slim yourself down
black creepers to add height
i stared out the window
into the look time decided on in your eyes
at you walking on to the only home you could afford
and it looked like something
very fair had finally happened

it has been dark out for an hour
and nothing's been done

list is too long for the marijuana
so there is too much to do
because not enough has been done
not even close

hello again yesterday,
hello over and over again
yesterday

i am locked sometime  back in highschool
outside the one hundred building
walking to the next class

those faces passing by every school day
of that life
in all the same faces
there are two faces
black turtleneck boy smiling at me through his long bangs
i ignored, never made eye contact
or wondered

no john hughes action there

other guy calling out
something about me or the guy i was with
and what freaks  we were

i responded by spitting in his face
it surprised him
which surprised me

walking away
taking all the wrong steps

i look for signs
in all the cardboard signs
never find them
keep my money

keep the windows open
keep cold hands
keep my lighter busy
devil dancing all the way behind me

not a pretty picture
by day, a five year old child
who needs to be told what to do

if they hadn't have cut out my tongue
old boy, I'd really have a lot to say
about the guy in the purple bandanna,
hadn't seen him in months, but he re-emerged
recently,
he is still short, his hair is still curly
he still carries himself importantly

looking so ridiculous to me
it's been mean out lately

a woman is yelling at him
he calls her a ****
she keeps right on yelling
she really has a lot to say

she keeps on walking away in both directions
and she keeps on coming back

she is not going to shut the **** up

some dreams are made for diplomat's sons
some hands are not attached to potters
i have two of those hands
i have no potter's hands
i only have two hands

to hold all the wrong things
from hurt to hurtful
to wrinkle their fingers
like caved in ribs of an umbrella
that will not withstand

or press in the growing eyebag
i have no potter's hands
and it mostly makes me feel bad

One at a time
Guys in bands leave Shannon’s
Apartment every other Sunday morning
They walk down the green carpeted steps
With scowls on their faces

They walk through the black iron gates
That shut Shannon in behind them
As they walk off, better places to go,

Shannon smokes her thirties away
On a third story balcony
She stares out on the black iron gates that shut her in

The fog will never lift in her highschool parking lot
Some short lived September through October
There had been no brighter sun
Than those mornings in her highschool parking lot
Except for the days it rained


Roland Gift had convinced her
She had been so duped.

there are things
i can't do anymore
i've been doing all those things
a lot lately

just can't stop
every night the songs are played
i've had enough but i would just
have to do nothing or do something else

i'de like to be more descript
but every night
i inhale something lit
and scott gimple just knows
he is a better writer than Robert Kirkman
every time he kills off the main character,
the most integral part of the story,
the whole reason for the story in the first place

how hard can you fight
without the plot armour
that could really be useful right now

more moth holes in the sweaters
as the cost of living costs
the cost of living lives

dark lights never shut up
for a purpose they don't serve
everything for the wrong one

always leaving you with that feeling
tomorrow's going to be a really bad day