i used to lay next to you while you'd sleep
and wonder how you could possibly have more secrets to keep
than you've got eyelashes
you've got more eyelashes than there are tulips in holland
and even that was never enough to keep me from wanting more
it wasn't my excitement that would keep me from my sleep
it was just that you snore
that ********* snore
and in my wormy brain
it means that you were subconciously bored
i always failed to work the whiskey on your breath into our amorphous algorythm
no real measure for our frosted-glass-pleasure
just bruises left to treasure
on our hearts
and necks
and spirits
we got good at it
spending every night
with so much left unsaid
that it was almost as if i could hear it
with my ear pressed to your ribs
like post-dated reverberrations from all of our forgotten arguments
echoing through the void of our emptied bottles
and in the cherry-pits of our chests
it was all just a long line of tests
measured pressures
and recorded reactions
it was an intellectual's game
who will be the first to break?
in retrospect
i think we took turns
and as much as it still burns my eyes
and breaks my mind
to know that there are tears left to cry
it feels alright
i guess that's the part i always liked
that ache left in the morning
sometimes i blame my parents
for letting me believe
that love was as simple to understand
as the plot of a disney flick
they should have told me the truth
that it's really just sick
twisted delusions of our infatuated brains
and that the more we try to change it
the more it stays the same
that the more you say its name
the less likely it is to show its face
i'll never know if it was love
or insanity
either way
s o m e t h i n g still remains
and all looks pretty much the same
from this side of the window pane
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
i used to lay next to you while you'd sleep
and wonder how you could possibly have more secrets to keep
than you've got eyelashes
you've got more eyelashes than there are tulips in holland
and even that was never enough to keep me from wanting more
it wasn't my excitement that would keep me from my sleep
it was just that you snore
that ********* snore
and in my wormy brain
it means that you were subconciously bored
i always failed to work the whiskey on your breath into our amorphous algorythm
no real measure for our frosted-glass-pleasure
just bruises left to treasure
on our hearts
and necks
and spirits
we got good at it
spending every night
with so much left unsaid
that it was almost as if i could hear it
with my ear pressed to your ribs
like post-dated reverberrations from all of our forgotten arguments
echoing through the void of our emptied bottles
and in the cherry-pits of our chests
it was all just a long line of tests
measured pressures
and recorded reactions
it was an intellectual's game
who will be the first to break?
in retrospect
i think we took turns
and as much as it still burns my eyes
and breaks my mind
to know that there are tears left to cry
it feels alright
i guess that's the part i always liked
that ache left in the morning
sometimes i blame my parents
for letting me believe
that love was as simple to understand
as the plot of a disney flick
they should have told me the truth
that it's really just sick
twisted delusions of our infatuated brains
and that the more we try to change it
the more it stays the same
that the more you say its name
the less likely it is to show its face
i'll never know if it was love
or insanity
either way
s o m e t h i n g still remains
and all looks pretty much the same
from this side of the window pane
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