And Your Ribbon Was Lost On The Roads To Confusion
I'm getting a new phone tomorrow, but the instant my contract with Cingular is up, I'm bailing on them. This whole situation should've been resolved nearly a month ago. So, hopefully, tomorrow I'll actually have my old number working again, and I can actually get calls from people who don't know my mom's number, though most of you at this point seem to know it.
I'm pretty sure that my reactions are marketable. That's all to say right now.
I've sat at this desk tonight, trying not to think about all that's going on around me. This world is so shaken up, it doesn't know how to stand on its drunken feet. I'm told I'm stumbling, but how can that be, when I'm the one with the steady shoes?
I've lived by myself, in my own little corner, for so long, I just don't know how to step away from it. Every time I do, it's a shot in the dark. I hit a wall I can't see, and a door I can't unlock. So I bang and clamor and scream, until my voice is shot, for something new to apprehend my hand, but I can't find it. It won't find me, it demands I search until I'm burned out. I feel your lips as they blow on my flame, and as your chemicals kill the reaction.
Forgive all the things I've done, and I'm still less than one man. I'm not honorable, attractive, interesting, or worthwhile. Every step I take proves me more correct on the matter. Don't mistake this for me trying to sound pathetic, it's just realization that all the good things I've ever taken for granted took me for granted first. I've turned my head so many times, and I'm afraid to say that all the faces that smiled when I was younger, have since faded, and gained their own perspective that requires nothing less of me than to see me walk away.
How many people see me as something more than a face to sometimes talk to? I'm not asking for a lot here, but I'm sick of these games you all play. This town, no, this whole world, is bent on the idea that they must socialize and create a structure of insecurity and uncomfortable silence. You spin, you talk, you stab in the back, and you keep on going like it's everyone else's fault, when in reality, you're feeding the machine. Just as I do. Just as we all do.
Do you believe that you can run away from your problems? That you can tuck your tail between your legs, and leave it all behind? I know that I can't, because I'll always be this scared little kid hiding from everyone. I used to be outgoing. I used to talk. I used to not be so worried about the knives that sprung for people's lips. But I grew older. I grew wiser. I grew scared and lonely. I knew that if I let something, or someone, in, that the world would fall down around me. But all I have to show for it now, is the notion that I don't have any life-long friends anymore. They've all said the same words to me, repeatedly, as if they were written for a script of my life.
"What do you know, your life has been good!"
The next time you get the bright idea to tell me something optimistic, don't. You conspire. You retire my healthy head to the floor. It's a stop-motion dream of never-ending reoccurrence.
This brain has ceased it's pointless electrical thought.
I'm pretty sure that my reactions are marketable. That's all to say right now.
I've sat at this desk tonight, trying not to think about all that's going on around me. This world is so shaken up, it doesn't know how to stand on its drunken feet. I'm told I'm stumbling, but how can that be, when I'm the one with the steady shoes?
I've lived by myself, in my own little corner, for so long, I just don't know how to step away from it. Every time I do, it's a shot in the dark. I hit a wall I can't see, and a door I can't unlock. So I bang and clamor and scream, until my voice is shot, for something new to apprehend my hand, but I can't find it. It won't find me, it demands I search until I'm burned out. I feel your lips as they blow on my flame, and as your chemicals kill the reaction.
Forgive all the things I've done, and I'm still less than one man. I'm not honorable, attractive, interesting, or worthwhile. Every step I take proves me more correct on the matter. Don't mistake this for me trying to sound pathetic, it's just realization that all the good things I've ever taken for granted took me for granted first. I've turned my head so many times, and I'm afraid to say that all the faces that smiled when I was younger, have since faded, and gained their own perspective that requires nothing less of me than to see me walk away.
How many people see me as something more than a face to sometimes talk to? I'm not asking for a lot here, but I'm sick of these games you all play. This town, no, this whole world, is bent on the idea that they must socialize and create a structure of insecurity and uncomfortable silence. You spin, you talk, you stab in the back, and you keep on going like it's everyone else's fault, when in reality, you're feeding the machine. Just as I do. Just as we all do.
Do you believe that you can run away from your problems? That you can tuck your tail between your legs, and leave it all behind? I know that I can't, because I'll always be this scared little kid hiding from everyone. I used to be outgoing. I used to talk. I used to not be so worried about the knives that sprung for people's lips. But I grew older. I grew wiser. I grew scared and lonely. I knew that if I let something, or someone, in, that the world would fall down around me. But all I have to show for it now, is the notion that I don't have any life-long friends anymore. They've all said the same words to me, repeatedly, as if they were written for a script of my life.
"What do you know, your life has been good!"
The next time you get the bright idea to tell me something optimistic, don't. You conspire. You retire my healthy head to the floor. It's a stop-motion dream of never-ending reoccurrence.
This brain has ceased it's pointless electrical thought.