Reason To Believe In More; Semi-Colon Serenade
Oh, baby, do you feel squishy and are your arms puffing? Yeah, I know what you mean and no, I don't know what its called, except for being human; and only just. What I do know is staring into space; helps. And when you feel like that, find consolation in knowing that there is less; to go wrong. If you can't trust yourself for at least one minute each day, you should trust in this, because your truths are more benign than your malignancies, but I know, baby, I know; it takes a long time just to get it all straight, to pray it all away, in the way that people who don't pray; pray.
You just have to;
wake up.
And find something;
beautiful and real to hold on to.
Now, press your lips against it;
until you find some sense of yourself.
Or, you can just lay low, in wait, at my locked door, weapon in hand; and do the humane thing. Only death, and the other dulcet lies people tell one another; when they place rings on crossed fingers. But at least its truthful hypocrisy.
"Is it spiked," she asked, clearly pleased with herself.
As for honesty, I'll tell you honestly; do the math. Like your gone ain't gone and creeping down the back stairs for dates with strangers. But that's a lie, too, no? Yes. Because telling the truth can be bad for your health, just ask half my scars; real and imagined badges of courage. In time, it became too much, too very goddamned much, and I decided that I was done with it. But you're bound to find hidden keepsakes from all of the people you've loved. The love, the hate, and the things that separate; thrown clumsily by kid gloved hands into a pyre of busted eggshells. And all I really wanted was for someone to love my silent and lonely parts, my parts too afraid to speak and parts too stealthy for eyes. We all go downtown sometimes, but don't sing songs into my lips; just breathe this burn before your bubble of interest bursts. The cadaverous mob eats smirching secrets and drinks blushing ambition, so don't feed it because we deserves more. Don't cheat me out of what I have earned; because you are so terrified.
I am not a lie.
You just have to;
wake up.
And find something;
beautiful and real to hold on to.
Now, press your lips against it;
until you find some sense of yourself.
Or, you can just lay low, in wait, at my locked door, weapon in hand; and do the humane thing. Only death, and the other dulcet lies people tell one another; when they place rings on crossed fingers. But at least its truthful hypocrisy.
"Is it spiked," she asked, clearly pleased with herself.
As for honesty, I'll tell you honestly; do the math. Like your gone ain't gone and creeping down the back stairs for dates with strangers. But that's a lie, too, no? Yes. Because telling the truth can be bad for your health, just ask half my scars; real and imagined badges of courage. In time, it became too much, too very goddamned much, and I decided that I was done with it. But you're bound to find hidden keepsakes from all of the people you've loved. The love, the hate, and the things that separate; thrown clumsily by kid gloved hands into a pyre of busted eggshells. And all I really wanted was for someone to love my silent and lonely parts, my parts too afraid to speak and parts too stealthy for eyes. We all go downtown sometimes, but don't sing songs into my lips; just breathe this burn before your bubble of interest bursts. The cadaverous mob eats smirching secrets and drinks blushing ambition, so don't feed it because we deserves more. Don't cheat me out of what I have earned; because you are so terrified.
I am not a lie.
posted by martyr in moderation at 8:01 PM
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