guess who's back...
I woke up on the ceiling. It was cold, and despite the gas fireplace, heat did not rise to the top of this house. Heat was what was sitting on the couch, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by the company of past and present. They hold no future. Not even the palms of their hands show common lines.
But look closely, because there is a connection, and in this moment as I watch from my spot on the ceiling, the three are like conjoined links to an old silver bracelet. Rust covers their faces, their intentions, their true metalic color. They are chipped and scratched, worn in and out from those that once owned them. Or those that still do.
She has everying, yet nothing. She's everywhere, in every place, in every home. But she isn't here tonight. She isn't anywhere. Are they aware?
"You're beautiful."
Shut up.
"No really. You're amazingly beautiful."
Are they aware?
I'm waiting. I'm always waiting. They just haven't called my number yet.
I can't be where I want to be.
"Number 72..."
I can't be where you want me to be
"Number 73..."
I get up from the couch. My shirt is stained with guilt, and I can't find a fucking paper towel anywhere in this house. If I could, I'd lend it to you. Dirty Harriet. What will you do with yourself?
Look at me. No, look at me.
Can you hear me?
Hello? Is this thing on?
But look closely, because there is a connection, and in this moment as I watch from my spot on the ceiling, the three are like conjoined links to an old silver bracelet. Rust covers their faces, their intentions, their true metalic color. They are chipped and scratched, worn in and out from those that once owned them. Or those that still do.
She has everying, yet nothing. She's everywhere, in every place, in every home. But she isn't here tonight. She isn't anywhere. Are they aware?
"You're beautiful."
Shut up.
"No really. You're amazingly beautiful."
Are they aware?
I'm waiting. I'm always waiting. They just haven't called my number yet.
I can't be where I want to be.
"Number 72..."
I can't be where you want me to be
"Number 73..."
I get up from the couch. My shirt is stained with guilt, and I can't find a fucking paper towel anywhere in this house. If I could, I'd lend it to you. Dirty Harriet. What will you do with yourself?
Look at me. No, look at me.
Can you hear me?
Hello? Is this thing on?