i got pockets full of pages i write out at night,
paragraphs and phrases
in my fists, tied tight

i got bundles of friends i can count on one hand,
want quarter pounds and ounces but will settle for a gram,

i could fill a wal-mart parking lot with lost memories,
and build a staircase to the moon
out of the broken pieces of the me i'll never be,

it'd be a wobbly mess of fear and grief,
and once it's done i'd be able to breathe,

i got a pair of brass knuckles,
made out of hate,
a million shiny blue balloons,
filled up with rage,  

need to tie them together and float that **** away,

once it's in the atmosphere the balloons will slowly begin to pop
slowly falling back to earth free of all they caught.

and there will be little James,
with the black tooth grin,
waiting to sink them teeth into whatever trouble he can get in.