When you giggled through the telephone Telling me how you just ****** some coke dealer And i’d never see you again it was a beer bottle to my head You wore hubris like a **** wears hublot Everyone seemed to know All about your misery But you To you Your tears were salt for your tongue Your sighs were air from your lungs When you whimpered through the telephone Telling me how you just ****** some coke dealer And you never want to see him again It was a beer bottle to my head I never was too fond of coke ****** But to see your newfound acceptance Of your own true nature Was a King Reduced to kneeling Was a Lion Left to observation
You were a drug to me, babe. You weren't the medicinal kind either. You weren't just a painkiller. You weren't an antidepressant. You weren't a Xanax. You weren't ******. You weren't even the good kind of drug.
You weren't ****** or **** or ecstasy. You were the kind of drug that messed around with my heart and left my brain feeling clouded. You were the kind of drug that left me confused and feeling worse than before I took you. But I did. Again and again. I told myself I would break this vicious cycle of unscrewing your cap and hating myself for it afterwards. That I wouldn't draw back the plunger and force you into my veins anymore. But I didn't. Again and again.
I told myself you would be the death of me.
Every high you gave me left me feeling lost in the clouds.
Picture galleries of motion beamed against orbital screens jump from side to side.
Tethered to groping slobs fast-food fed flesh spills like slush under the *** crack of a sleeping ramshackle booth a flickering grey bulb advertising escalator rides at the rear of a carnival for stiffs.
Gimme the Fun house.
Along this pass, there shuffle I treadmill somnambulant stuck between why and why not my donated skin, patched worn past expiration toss a softball swing a hammer shoot a clown in the mouth skipping around fuchsia puddles of puked up cotton candy and beer riding the highchair a baby belly full of popcorn.
Eddy drops a neon mannequin strums his black flamingo strung with steamed tripe, shoplifted Dim Sum Sundays sweats custard **** opens his mouth to sing exhales moths and hummingbirds... fighting to the death over what's left of caramelized nuts spilled from my guts
I am an overthinker and overfeeler, over lover, over needer. I would flood you, or drown your respectable standoffishness. I don’t get over things, but I get under them well like the weather, I’d love you and you’d soak me through, you couldn’t handle me even if you wanted to.
My Dearest Molly Anne, I hope you are now satisfied With the sinking bags under my eyes and The empty gap between my thighs, I hope You know I can no longer sleep Without you to rock me through the slow-rolling lake, And sing your song of a thousand sheep. You've started throwing Thick red waves into my sink and Messed with my ability to think and Darling, you pull me Under miles and miles of freezing sea And you take and you take, Never satisfied.