annieyou broke her heart
and i wonder why i care.
she's not me,
i said hi to her just the other day
we always seem to be going seperate ways
how these days drag themselves selfishly on
she's stealing the lyrics to my song.
you told her "no i can't be with you, i'm still in love with joann"
and i didn't know the day had come
but it approached faster than birds.
she cried to the sky
she watched cars pass
i cried in my sleep.
i like her golden hair and fair skin
everyone says her eyes are the most piercing blue ever seen
i'd throw her in a locket if i could
and then she's be gone for good.
reunitefast steps and wilder things in the night
and sometimes you hear the wind chimes playing
wet fog seeped over my window pane
and the weather is not the same.
the trees each had ten fingers all their own
and the cold made me shiver harder then ever before
his cheek bones jut out like i knew they would
i would keep him forever if i could.
i saw something strange walk across the water
there's a guy up ahead waiting to steal me away
my beads are broken and they shattered to the floor
all i can do is ask for more.
a broken hearted girl listens to my songs and grunge
i smile at her as she passes me on the stairs
i imagine her crying when i walk away
there was nothing else left to say.
he's grown taller since last i walked with him
his face looks old and maybe his hands miss my hands
he hummed in my ear and held me close
his smell is the one i love the most.
we saw some yellow flowers in the dark
the frozen winds sailed across the bright moon
i told him i missed him and loved him and he said
we don't even know the meaning of love.
even if we did, we don't know how to use it.
the cold is damp
and my knuckles are sore,
slathered with months of an indian summer.
deeper and deeper we dig.
i don't think we'll stop
until the flesh on our hands bleeds off
and dirties the floor.
i am throwing up my heart,
the orange streetlights are turning off,
his skinny body haunts my memories.
sometimes when i'm falling asleep i hear folk songs and think of him.
then i remember how horrible it feels to cry.
i draw with cheap pens on my bare skin
flowers and shapes and things that don't matter
just to busy my hands.
i tell him to watch the paper leaves
as the wind blows and tosses them every which way,
and then i turn my back.
i play with my hair.
he asks me how my day was.
i think i will scream until my throat bleeds if i ever have to say to him "fine. how was yours?" one m
there's too much honesty in this car.
the molasses seconds melt around me and
my body is more awkward
with every word we don't speak.
(don't cry joann, don't cry.)
you're staring out the passenger side window
with water streaks crying down its side.
(whatever you do. don't. cry.)
how did we get here?
from what foreign place did we leave each other months before
and rejoin now
speaking different languages?
i want to ask you if you love me ( i know you'll say yes.)
i want to ask you if you're in love with me (you'll look away.)
you are cutting off my air.
that's life.i watched them walk off together into the dimmest part of the woods.
(he slipped his hand beneath the back of her silk shirt and touched the small of her back)
i remember her laughing.
as if calling my name i heard the wind howl at me, yelling to me
and whipping my hair back,
pulling me with her long whispy fingers,
forcing me to turn around and walk away.
my tears must have frozen before they hit the ground
(it was so cold that night i couldn't tell if i had limbs or not)
i remember slamming my fist on the hood of the red car infront of me just to make sure i could feel.
(i felt nothing.)
the track below my feet the next day was solid
and the straight white chalk-line swiping the middle of its length compelled me to keep running.
(i hate tracks. they're too constant.)
people complain over change.
but i thrive on it.
in fact, i breath it.
maybe i've figured out the master plan.
maybe i've thrown myself into some bottomless pit that i can't sc
higher than they skyi used to really wonder about the stars
and then i'd feel higher than the sky
in some field of vision i could never quite connect to.
you made it so clear to me one day
that i thought i just might tumble into a thousand flames
down some olympic hill
with weeds in my face
- the air i was breathing was so clean.
i think when i walked away from you
every moment i ever needed was stripped from my skin,
shed like a snake,
(and anything sane in me went too)
- and she laughed at my struggle
watching me cry myself to sleep at night.
it's a high and holy thing,
those words you speak,
those thoughts you saunter,
those fingers you play with.
you think you can step on my skirt tail and be wicked and sharp
and that i'll fall into your arms,
an innocent babe for you to do with what you please,
it's a wonder any lucky lady could walk past you
without a glimpse back.
but i'm trying.
in novemberi somehow imagine him jacking off in someone else's room, the guy who i finally figured out.
what was i supposed to say when you yelled that you loved me and that i just MIGHT have ripped your heart out, just MIGHT.
i remember watching you slam my car door shut (he didn't even roll up the window) and then i thought about crying...but i didn't.
maybe i'll focus on finishing what business i have with her before i try subjecting myself to legendary falls for you.
who are you anyway?
he went to the beach in the middle of november and even though i called him crazy and pushed him away and sneered at his laugh, he still smiled.
i think i just MIGHT be going crazy, but only maybe.
what does it mean when you have the biggest urge to shred all your hair up and then use a worn-down tie-dye shirt to shield what's left from the sun?
so that day when i watched him read his poem aloud, about puke being all over the wall and him scratching it up and sniffing it, and about the bed digging into
babblinghellish! and delirious...you obsolete person, you being of lore, forever embalmed into some couch in the middle of nowehere wasting away your fucking precious air! what better way to praticipate in the killing of the earth and the love of all of our fucking piteous lives, our lowly stumbled-upon, worn-down lives. what's in this water? this morbid excuse of freedom to seep into our veins...how will we know unless we try it? unless we lick it up. BE the fucking cat you poor cheapskate, you waxed and shiny son of a god damn gun.
mind is pacing a million feet to the west than fucking one million more to the east and you're in the meadow chewing on grass and wondering where your life went. SHIT! where's this going? am i in control cause i really don't think so. has some cosmic mix of eloquence, it's aptness intact, and desire and worry and trepid unwillingness and fright and the ow