I Am the Rain King
I'm not sure exactly what happened. As children we were told we could be anything we wanted to be, and we believed it. Ten years later, puberty and insecurites have taken over, and suddenly, you're never good enough to own your own dreams, and the people who supported you most are now the ones who hold you down. I've grown old enough to find out that Conciousness is and illuision, and still young enough to resent that fact. I want to believe in fairy tales, but experience merely shakes its head and says, "No, you're much too old. This is all there was and all there ever will be."
I wander in and out of peoples minds, memories, all-night diners, and I wonder what they think of when they see me. I stare at the roof and am in love with ideas (leather-bound and slightly yellowed) and nothing anyone can say will teach me how to be like everyone else. I keep old letters and maccorroni crafts, but disgard company and phone numbers with appalling indecentcy. [Don't fool yourself, you're nothing but company for my bedsheets and insecurities.] I sleep with boys and girls because its easy, then the fun wears off and i wish I had just stayed at home with The Ruby Fruit Jungle and a case of Smirnoff. I only seem to care when somebody inspires me to.
I remember the sounds of bubbles and Chef boyardee, and I try to forget the sound of bruised hipbones and razorblades. You see, blue-eyed boys are trouble, brown-eyed boys are heartache, and girls are more trouble than they're worth. I have no advice to any of you, and i don't want you to learn from my example. Scars aren't sexy and mental illness isn't trendy. 1 in 4 girls were sexually abused and the other 3 wish they were -- its a conversation starter. Oh look at me, emotional masochism and sold-out concert venues. Ms.Big shot is gambling away her soul, because she's drunk and playing blackjack at the poker table. It's not funny, unless of corse you laugh at Socrates and Shakespear and cry at Spielburg. I know I'm supposed to kill the caterpillars cause they're eating away the garden, but I can't bring myself to do it.
Jigsaw puzzles never seem to have all the pieces, and all my dreams have shattered into a million facets of lights above a hot, sex-inspired, 4th of July night. Afterall, its better to burn out than to fade away (Willie said it first, but Kurt made it a mantra). I love old people at senior lunch, but despise happiness in peers, happiness that is always just out of reach, despite so many milligrams of disillusionment. Fuck you for not understanding me, more importantly, for chastizing what you don't understand. Write your books, become president, get a 1600 SAT, just please don't shatter my glass house. I like to belive I exist completely beyond you all, in a different realm, and I resent it when I'm dragged back to it.
"Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule."
I wander in and out of peoples minds, memories, all-night diners, and I wonder what they think of when they see me. I stare at the roof and am in love with ideas (leather-bound and slightly yellowed) and nothing anyone can say will teach me how to be like everyone else. I keep old letters and maccorroni crafts, but disgard company and phone numbers with appalling indecentcy. [Don't fool yourself, you're nothing but company for my bedsheets and insecurities.] I sleep with boys and girls because its easy, then the fun wears off and i wish I had just stayed at home with The Ruby Fruit Jungle and a case of Smirnoff. I only seem to care when somebody inspires me to.
I remember the sounds of bubbles and Chef boyardee, and I try to forget the sound of bruised hipbones and razorblades. You see, blue-eyed boys are trouble, brown-eyed boys are heartache, and girls are more trouble than they're worth. I have no advice to any of you, and i don't want you to learn from my example. Scars aren't sexy and mental illness isn't trendy. 1 in 4 girls were sexually abused and the other 3 wish they were -- its a conversation starter. Oh look at me, emotional masochism and sold-out concert venues. Ms.Big shot is gambling away her soul, because she's drunk and playing blackjack at the poker table. It's not funny, unless of corse you laugh at Socrates and Shakespear and cry at Spielburg. I know I'm supposed to kill the caterpillars cause they're eating away the garden, but I can't bring myself to do it.
Jigsaw puzzles never seem to have all the pieces, and all my dreams have shattered into a million facets of lights above a hot, sex-inspired, 4th of July night. Afterall, its better to burn out than to fade away (Willie said it first, but Kurt made it a mantra). I love old people at senior lunch, but despise happiness in peers, happiness that is always just out of reach, despite so many milligrams of disillusionment. Fuck you for not understanding me, more importantly, for chastizing what you don't understand. Write your books, become president, get a 1600 SAT, just please don't shatter my glass house. I like to belive I exist completely beyond you all, in a different realm, and I resent it when I'm dragged back to it.
"Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule."