[[the sentiment of the last month or so.]]
have you forgotten by the red house painters.
i can't let you be, cause your beauty won't allow me.
wrapped in white sheets,
like an angel from a bedtime story.
and shut out what they say,
cause your friends are fucked up anyway.
and when they come around,
somehow they feel up and you feel down.
when we were kids, we hated things our parents did.
we listened, low, to casey kasem's radio show.
that's when friends were nice,
to think of them just makes you feel nice.
the smell of grass in spring
and october leaves cover everything.
have you forgotten how to love yourself?
i can't believe all the good things that you do for me.
sat back in a chair like a princess from a faraway place
nobody's nice, when you're older your heart turns to ice.
and shut out what they say;
they're too dumb to mean it anyway.
when we were kids, we hated things our sisters did.
backyard summer pools and christmases were beautiful
and the sentiment of coloured mirrored ornaments.
and the open drapes
look out on frozen farmhouse landscapes.
have you forgotten how to love yourself?
_______
i think i am unhappy because i can't write.
or think without it hurting,
and this stops me from doing my shtick.
or enjoying the crazies.
or loving, even to my capacity.
i don't know what to do about it.
time for tomato soup.