Monday, May 20, 2013

Jenny Swanson Syndrome

She said "I wanted you to be there" and I couldn't apologize and admit that my jealousy turns me into some sort of sulking fucking baby at times. There weren't fireworks that night, though I wouldn't be totally sure time spent in black outs sure wish I could black out my days that easily.... twenty long hours since my last cigarette... I'm still waiting for Jenn to call me back and ask me to go to the prom with her. Ten years to the fucking day... There is a seam being split in the firmament  and I bet there is a poet writing much more poignant lines at this very moment as I emulate and infringe on so many copyrights.

I want it so badly just watching her sit there and put her arms around his shoulders. It feels so good to be the one receiving someone's affection sure but it feels comparatively worse watching the object of yours two steps away from fucking some other guy. I'm not too proud to admit that there will forever be regrets resting in my heart which will remain until it stops...

...a little honestly wouldn't have killed me in retrospect but a little honesty sure as fuck will kill me now.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

And You Thought You Owned This Shit...

My good friend will also opine to us all on the greatness of life's lesser known deities. Every day he tries to learn something new about the esoteric. Such disgust practice! Yet I too engage in awful habits of sleeping with the past every night going back in time in my dreams. We need new things that would fit in so well with the past cause anachronism is the new black and cliche show kids own the night!

Fold your arms after applauding the poet boy! How we can look so pious as the laughter dies down? So swoon cynic, we ate this shit just for you to nod your head and think how right you are, how right you are! When you were so busy dotting "i's" and crossing "t's" we were passing out while you were passing out the rules and now you sit atop your castles laughing at us fools, "sharp dressed kids own the night but we own your 9 to 5's don't you forget!"

Her hair sticking together from the vomit coming out of her mouth. You told me we are made out of the same shit stars are made out of and I just shook my head and laughed cause we're more dead than those stars are creeping like corpses between jobs and commercial breaks. Tell me the music makers and artists are your kings well go ahead and try to serve two masters claiming you own the night before your head hits the concrete.

Some of us age better than others. Some of us make better wages than others. Some of us will forever be looking back... it's always better when you weren't really there and who cares if we own the night seems right, most of the world is sleeping on us anyway.