and that negative sign never disappears.
It's forever tugging down my spine,
drilling me beneath the pavement.

and I'll hold my neck up straight and tall,
but my vertebrae only stretch so far.
Free me from my haunting enslavement.

Make room between the gaps.

I'm flawed if I'm not free.

But it doesn't matter,
because words don't mean anything to me.

The polaroid.

The sidewalks.

Lake Calhoun.

Sleeping in the hot and sticky trunk.

The stars.

Hiding.

Your cave.

Being ashamed.

Saying goodbye.

Seeing the stars.

The paintings.

The polaroids.

The legs draped over the arm rest of the sofa.

Who's feet are these?

The stars of Minneapolis.

The courtyard.

My face.

Your beautiful ****** angel.

The Starlite Motel.

Seeing the stars of Minneapolis.

The cave.

The paint puddles in a Bible.

The most beautiful night you've ever had.

Don't paint anyone else.

Show me the stars of Minneapolis from inside your cave.

I didn't know 'till now.

I just didn't know.

I'm haunted by the ghost I used to be.

My phantom soul lingers around corners,
and is hiding in the even darker corners of my zombie brain
constantly yearning for more and more brains.

And each day that I age,
the person I used to be seems better and better.

Alcohol's the devil
and he's my only friend.

Heart's broke.

There's nothing to it's name.

Not out of addiction,
     just out of boredom.

I'm taking it into me.
I'm taking it in.

I learned to love rain again.
     it can't stop me now.

Not even in the hall of my love;
     the mighty mountain king.