You place your chin
in the crook of my neck,
sending shivers down my spine
and I know it's time to unwind
The weekend floats in softly,
mesmerized by time fading away
Stops me in my tracks
The week seems to drag on
But you got my back
at the end of it all
the endless weekly marathon
Our eyes and thoughts align
to this lovely phenomenon
Cause it's not love
without you and me
This isn't just history
in the making
kush and coffee
You're my Saturday morning, baby
I'll love you through
all the days and weeks to come
But lucky for us
This weekends only just begun
Cautionary visions visit in viciously vivid fashion
I'm dead and my head is missing
Everyone is laughing
And the sky is sorta dreary but I don't know
With no eyes you don't see too clearly
Sew me a new one on,
Attached at the neck
Plastic instead of brittle skin and maybe then
I can exist in some form above the normally gray and grim
I pray to a faceless facade
I made a "God" in my head
An eternal alternative to turn to and blame
And claim to strangers that he works in mysterious ways
My lips are chafed from singing unheard praises
I'm tasteless and it has me thinking that maybe my mouth was only a product of my imagination
Food for thought I chew and stop
Its too **** hot for contemplation
Still, I used to think my hands belonged to someone else
Right up until I used them both to **** myself
I walk a lonely road, the only road that I have ever known
I stopped keeping track of time
somewhere between "goodbye,"
and where we crossed that line
Don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone
you'd leave me stranded
and just left for dead
I walk this empty street on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Here, hope just lies around
I think I'll drink this *****
and smash the bottle on the ground
I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind
Some days life just *****
Then some are fine,
but most I don't give a £u¢k
Read between the lines--what's £u¢k€d up and everything's alright
******* to the sky,
cuz I'm stuck between wondering how
and knowing full well why
Check my vital signs and know I'm still alive and I walk alone*
I'll walk till I hit a dead end
then I'll sit awhile
I'll sit awhile
Oh, just until
I know you're not coming, my old friend
Bringing back my "lyrical likeness" style poetry. I break down song lyrics and reimagine them to develop an extra dimension.
Words in bold are lyrics to Green Day's 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams.'
Italicized words are mine.
And try to light em underneath an ocean's worth of crude oil
That is forcing it's way into my lungs
My high hopes hung their heads in the past as they waited to be hanged
But now the concept of life felt empty and displayed itself as a delay
A casual lack of oxygen shut off all process in the brain
And we are on our way.
in the depths
And the darkness fades to grey,
**A less ambivalent shade.
Life is a melody
You can listen to only once.
The first thirty seconds, you find the groove,
A harmonious rhythm hereto unwritten
This could be your favorite.
For the next three minutes, you settle in.
The chorus comes around.
*You'll be here again.
It's fresh, it's catchy
You're enraptured by these certain pitches and the words rhyme perfectly.
One line flowing into the next, the ends justifying the means.
Another verse, another chorus. This one feels more weathered
Routine, maybe. You still feel that groove but your perspective of it has been altered by the change in tempo and direction during the last verse.
You realize you have fifteen seconds left.
This was your song. What did you do with it?
*As you think back, a gentle blanket of white noise embraces everything that ever was, and your song fades
Let me know how you feel.
I etched patterns into a tree with a pocket knife that had a red plastic handle
Indentions such as these never stay
Yet eternally we press against the world
Hoping to make a mark that will shine in the daylight and glow in the dark
I'm a shriveled slice of the Americana pie
With my soul on a swivel and the devil in my eyes
Life was a son of a ***** with fists that spat dirt when it spoke
And it ONLY screamed.
I'm somewhere between *David Duchovny and Stephen King
And I'm trying to rip up manuscripts that I didn't write and I don't know who did.
Goodnight America. My patterns will explain my existence more than I ever could.
Depression has become an insulin injection
A necessary evil
Only required because I have been underneath it's moon so long
Any other tide pull would surely drown me in confusion