i never held a funeral for that big part of me that died.
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i need to put these thoughts to rest. i need to find a peace of mind.
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i need to piece my mind, find a piece of mind to rest in.
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need to find someone to confide in, and with the rest i need to start restin'.
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needless to say, i couldn't hide.
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fifteen grown men shouldn't cry.
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had i known then what i know now.
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had i thought now what i knew then...
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i might still be human
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with all the little stupid fix-ins.
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as i fix sins and vixens vick souls,
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stitch clothes for the characters they play then switch roles.
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nail me to the cross dress.
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the holy cloth costs less.
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i'd toss less
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if i still had your soft breasts to rest my head on.
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since you've been gone,
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i recalled my issues with problems and hate
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but i can't exactly remember the model or make.
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now glass bottles break in my death grip.
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i'm about to take the next quick exit and end this head trip.
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my bed's stripped of its blankets, comforters, pillows and sheets,
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but i might have to peel off all my skin to remove your scent in order to sleep.
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i had my highs and lows.
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when on top, i let you peek out over my nose.
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sitting on my shoulders and i suppose if i had a backbone,
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you might still be here.
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my skin is filthy...
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from my lows when you weren't there. but to keep from feeling guilty,
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i collected the dirt (collected the dirt)...kept it piling up.
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now mr. feel nothing saves his tears inside of a cup
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and he drinks (and he drinks). and he forgets that he's an asshole.
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jealous of his ghosts and doubts he even has a soul.
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my secret pleasures have my inner demons gossiping.
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i'm a ghost writer for the horrorcore lyrics my personal monsters sing.
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i'm sitting in a stranger's tub...
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with all my clothes on...shivering...considering the dangers of love.
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they get half of what i have to give...if that.
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it's all about the packaging. they're distracted by the gift rap.
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predictable. easy to manipulate.
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they're foreshadow puppets and i'm waiting for their strings to break.
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the pillars that once held up my halfway house have been taken out.
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i'm in my last days now.
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there's a change coming soon.
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i just want to crawl back into my mother's womb.
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i need a comfort zone,
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but obviously i need to find another home
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to call my own...and always return to
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and i want it to be you (i want it to be you).
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i sit and stare, zone out, think a lot and never sleep,
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creating memories to remember and then i forget to eat.
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went to the street you used to live on, staring at the bedroom window of your old home
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with puppy eyes...waiting for god to throw me a bone.
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i'd settle for one more goodbye kiss while i settle for less.
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i'm unsettled at best. sulking while abandoning settlements.
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insulting my companions intelligence...conversing with baby talk.
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practicing mind games. rehearsing with playful thought.
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it's the way we fought that made my blood bubble then turn cold,
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when you made me walk through rain and mud puddles on a dirt road.
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it left me so messy,
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forget me...not.
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i've got more mud to sling...
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shot.
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"through the heart, and your to blame, you give love a bad name."
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-----------------
|
Pitchers Of Silence
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| Sage Francis |
