Catch me a bus to the mental Joint
cause this one is burnt
and my high is already way past the fade
I’m beginning to fall in love with my stupid head,
my utter innocence, and the thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s ok to feel dead.
Please, do not let me touch reality
at least not until I’ve relived my dreams of the last,
no the first kiss,
repaired my past so I won’t regret the thing that was, us
and forget how to feel lonely, again.
Feed me shots like its Saturday night,
instead of Monday at 3pm
Let me drink before I come into myself
and remember the reason I chose to become a full-time alcoholic
Don’t leave me alone with my sober self
cause walls become murals of memories I long to forget
of you, of us, in this bar, on that table,
of 3am shuffles and noontime romances
and the more the scenes mix the less I have to pretend not to see.
I’m scratching initials into bar-tops,
in the hope the M.J. and D.G. really do share one heart,
and that is tiny fantasy comes true before my next drink.
I’ve decided not to live in the now
because the last heartbreak
was the last time I’ve give my heart permission to ache.
But that’s just marker one of my twelve step plan.
I want to drown out everything my BS degree
taught me in the BA of Political suicides.
Somewhere, there exist a combination of depressants,
uppers, hallucinogens, and narcotics that make existence seem pleasant.
But this isn’t it.
This is the combination that makes me forget about war and genocide
and condenses the whole of human experience into the hazy exchange of
hushed compliments and hasty fluids.
This is the combination that makes me forget the year we were happy,
or was that the year we were sad?
Either way, it’s doing its job.
Let me count the days since you left,
because I don’t remember the nights.
A whiskey aftershave, if I remember to shave,
and Mary Jane’s premium cologne are what get me from 7am
till 2 am when I pass out again.
Someday I’ll stop drowning in a little of this and some of that,
one day I’ll start loving, no start liking, maybe accept people again.
but today, I’m going to crossfade fast and thank God for the drugs
that make today, at the very least, bearable
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Catch me a bus to the mental Joint
cause this one is burnt
and my high is already way past the fade
I’m beginning to fall in love with my stupid head,
my utter innocence, and the thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s ok to feel dead.
Please, do not let me touch reality
at least not until I’ve relived my dreams of the last,
no the first kiss,
repaired my past so I won’t regret the thing that was, us
and forget how to feel lonely, again.
Feed me shots like its Saturday night,
instead of Monday at 3pm
Let me drink before I come into myself
and remember the reason I chose to become a full-time alcoholic
Don’t leave me alone with my sober self
cause walls become murals of memories I long to forget
of you, of us, in this bar, on that table,
of 3am shuffles and noontime romances
and the more the scenes mix the less I have to pretend not to see.
I’m scratching initials into bar-tops,
in the hope the M.J. and D.G. really do share one heart,
and that is tiny fantasy comes true before my next drink.
I’ve decided not to live in the now
because the last heartbreak
was the last time I’ve give my heart permission to ache.
But that’s just marker one of my twelve step plan.
I want to drown out everything my BS degree
taught me in the BA of Political suicides.
Somewhere, there exist a combination of depressants,
uppers, hallucinogens, and narcotics that make existence seem pleasant.
But this isn’t it.
This is the combination that makes me forget about war and genocide
and condenses the whole of human experience into the hazy exchange of
hushed compliments and hasty fluids.
This is the combination that makes me forget the year we were happy,
or was that the year we were sad?
Either way, it’s doing its job.
Let me count the days since you left,
because I don’t remember the nights.
A whiskey aftershave, if I remember to shave,
and Mary Jane’s premium cologne are what get me from 7am
till 2 am when I pass out again.
Someday I’ll stop drowning in a little of this and some of that,
one day I’ll start loving, no start liking, maybe accept people again.
but today, I’m going to crossfade fast and thank God for the drugs
that make today, at the very least, bearable
a little older poem, one of my favorites
