O! WHO’S GONNA CARE
WHEN THE MARKETS AREN’T THERE
AND THE REGENTS RETIRE?
GO CALL THE EMPIRE!

COULDN’T REASON WITH THE UNDERDOG; ONCE YOU’VE BEEN IT, THEN YOU’LL ALWAYS BE ONE, LOOKING AROUND THE ARENA, THINKING “I’M JUST LIKE YOU,”

BUT A GIRL’S GOTTA DO WHAT A GIRL’S GOTTA DO,

AND A GIRL’S GOTTA EAT;
A GIRL’S GOTTA EAT TOO

[after all this waiting, seismic renovation gutted out the whole thing (but kept the presentation)—so i figured i could probably do the same:]

you pick me up; it’s far away. you need me for the carpool lane. i’m obsessed with what you’re saying—“Take Me Out Tonight” is playing—and i can’t believe you.

and you won’t convince me either way.

“i’ll be yours until we’re dead”: you said it first. you said it! after all this waiting, i was going to save it. i was only practice—you were gonna waste it.

so i figured i should wake up and walk home.

but the pavement
is a portal
and i’m sixteen
and i don’t know
how to handle
being mortal

being rivals on the ride home.

staying somewhere that you don’t know.

but i’m still trying.

i thought you wanted me this way.

“Sitting By The River With The Sky In Her Eyes”: I always feel like a tourist: I wanna know what it’s like? I’ve been staring down the barrel of another life; said “I could’ve been a lawyer; we would have been fine then.”

Walking around with my head down: I’m a “worst case” kid in a plague-pit town. Standing at the stake, saying “I’m cool by myself”. (But, I’m a liar. In the end, I’m gonna need your help.)

And look at you! A killer with a jaw for news! I always feel like a tourist: I only came here for you. I’ve been staring down the barrel of another life—you said I could have been your courage; we could have been fine.

All of the ways that it’s too late now! Wearing your clothes as the clouds come down; calling my friends (said “The witch is dead!”); cut thru the park; try to catch my breath.

(Dysphoria melts me when I get home. Try to loosen my shoes—she said “leave it alone”. But I tighten her words around my wrists like I’ve only been hers—and we could have been fine.)

Circuses or Ghost Towns: There’s no inbetweens to know now. But I have always occupied the middle, where it’s cool to hide.

If Silence is an Issue: I don’t have a good defence for overthinking everything I’ve ever (almost) said.

I think I might need Diagnoses: I know that’s all manmade terms, but I’ve been looking for an act of God, and I keep getting hurt.

The good thing in all of this is staying anonymous. We’re looking for monoliths—“Hey, there’s nothing in Aisle 6.” I’ve been something of an addict these days, but still an optimist, saying “this has got to be the worst it’s gonna get.”

You’re looking for hope. I don’t know how. Watching you fortify yourself, garner your books, and pack your bags for the #Resistance. Tell me it couldn’t be THAT bad. Tell me you’ll call my mom and dad.

If anything happens when we’re out there, I’ll be vigilant.

The good thing in all of this is earning your calluses. Getting resilient; studying consequence. I’ve been something of a scholar these days—I’ve been trying (but I get it wrong). I’ve been something of a revelation—I just don’t know what I want. And I’ve been something of a loser these days—I’ve been nothing like my father these days—I’ve been something of a liar these days. “I am okay. I am okay.”

The good thing in all of this is being irrelevant. Getting your tires checked and going back out again.

The good thing in all of this is having a friend in it. Come tell me how it is—and how it’s been.

Sell the dream back to me, like you thought of it first. Like you live for the words. Mr “Tell Me How To Feel”—came all this way to miss the meal. Your promises were made to break; your parables were my mistakes. All this “It was only you”: Where were you when I needed proof? Girls are at the gate, sir. What’s it gonna take?

I tried to be the place you run to, ’cause I loved you—your Calamity became me; you thought nothing was worth saving. But I was fighting for the last air left inside the car, when you said that loving me is hard. Not just “how it is”, or “who we are”: No, I was hard. (Was I?)

Good to be back where I’m nothing to no one: Men shaking hands at the station. Scoured the country for a reason I should try. I met a girl on borrowed time; read her letter, crying at the port in Dublin, and the snow was falling.

Honest, I was gonna call it.

But all I know is to get up, holding on, with a mouth full of blood.

When I first saw her, she looked like me: Bitter, depleted, crimson. I cried in the gift shop: How much does it cost? If I did all this for forgiveness, and it isn’t what I want.

I wanna be free, and I wanna be ugly.
I wanna be mean, and I wanna be ugly.
Don’t wanna be seen, wanna be believed in. (Believed.)

Make her an emblem; teach her a lesson. Make her revered, then make her feel fear of the hero.

Too drunk to drive: Couldn’t even look her in the eye.

When the world is at your will, will you think about her still? When you’ve taken it from her, and we’re taken for your word?

Say something please: You’re making me nervous.

We’re watching the gulls on your daily excursion and you can’t believe the seawall erosion.

We both know you mean that we’re not important.

I guess you’re correct, and I am always reminded of it. I have tried to contest, but I am too small for the argument.

They built an ark in the state of Kentucky: You think it’s funny, the effort they’ve made to include the rocks and the dinosaur bones.

Oh, the things we will buy to put off the fear of dying.

I guess she’s obsessed with getting enough antioxidants. Get her off, get her dressed, and give her a world she can marvel in.

We’re born blue; I got used to it until you came to keep me alive. I don’t have a choice but to leave the door cracked open when you are inside.

And I’m sorry for shaking your shoulders when you said, in the car, “What’s the point of it all?”, when I don’t have it in me to conjure divinity. Breathe for me; for me, try.

You’re alright.

I don’t want your touch very much, very often, but when I do, it gets bad.

I don’t jump for love very much, very often; I was good at staying sad.

But when we kissed in the kitchen like we’d meet again, and I thought you were perfect, my god had a plan. Sometimes I don’t deserve it—I couldn’t have been a worthy opponent—but you could’ve said that.

Well, listen. I’m fumbling. I wanted to fight, but I have got this feeling, hollow and sinking, like you’re gonna win.

Is that what you’re thinking?