They’ll just shrug you off…
“you can’t afford to think like that…”
what if it’s broken? what if it’s that machine that’s stuck on one setting and you can wiggle the handle and mess with the innards but it doesn’t help?
maybe before you go lifeless you go voiceless
by default of no one listening
if no one hears are you really making noise anyway?
“is this real or all in my head?”
“of course it’s all in your head, but that doesn’t make it any less real does it?”
I just want one person who’s ever felt as empty as me to tell me it’ll be ok, it doesn’t feel particularly right coming from someone who can’t empathize. not that I don’t appreciate it, but it’s like learning to fish from someone who’s never even been near the water.
heaven and hell are one big sea
that can’t be sailed by only me
I’m tired of being told I’m dramatic and have a bad attitude.
Like I want to feel this fucked up all the time
Maybe something’s actually wrong.
Maybe Jon just sounds like my mom and dad
And my mom just sounds like those self-help books she leafs through when it rains too much for her liking
Maybe I can think away the storms the same way I can conjure them
Maybe I’ve just been dancing the whole time this violence occurred
Maybe these songs have been the thing that killed me enough to beat this heart back to beating again.
Maybe the rope dangling from this tree was for climbing up and out.
“Oh, Jake,” Brett said, “we could have had such a damned good time together.”
Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me.
“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”
