(no subject)
Keys in a cupboard
I am alone tonight
But I know
I can mask it for a while
I can pretend
It's a beautiful thing
These are the nights I age
Young girls fawn
Lay me out on the lawn
They keep me young
Rejuvenate my soul
But it was nights like this
That got me old
Every drink I take
My soul gets heavier
Don't even have the energy
To fake a smile with the
Neighbors
Sweating in a balmy room
Smoke lingers in the air
I attack my liver
I attack my lungs
I attack my heart
I attack the people who
I attack my liver
I attack the people who
Loved me
I can vaguely remember a time
When every girl in school...
Was that even me?
Now they shudder
As I look them up and down
My only regret
Is not taking advantage
Of every one of them
I'd be lying if I said
It never crossed my mind
Paint a red cross
And announce my time
Lonely days see me let go
And I'm happy here
Lonely days see me let go
Of the charming boy I used to be
Glad to be dead inside
It's what I chose
~~~~~
My avatar picture above would have been taken in December of 2006. 18 years old. I was in what was my past and what would be my future room playing one of Dad's guitars. Above my head (visible in the full version of the picture) is a Shell gasoline sign that now lives on a wall in my Dad's garage.
I would have been smack dab in the middle of a pretty long cocaine and pot binge when the photo was taken. The day the photo was taken my Dad and I went and shot my Grandpa's rifles that he'd inherited at a shooting range. The first and only time I've ever shot a gun. That night the party continued.
What I love about the beard was the way it personified my loneliness at the time. The outside had come to reflect the inside: unkempt, messy, dirty. Bad. People avoid drug addicts. People avoid people with messy beards and hair. The day I shaved the beard I also shaved my head and went to class for the first time in weeks. Two girls I'd been eyeballing (you know the ones you stare at and never ever talk to) all semester came and sat by me during the lecture. I've stayed clean shaven and (mostly) short haired ever since.
No, I didn't have the balls to talk to them. Baby steps.
In those days (both pre and post shaving the beard) I spent every night by myself. I'd moved into my new home in August, and the first roommate had left by the end of November, the second roommate came in January and left in March. I would sit at my desk on my laptop and drink whiskey and smoke pot. Occasionally I could score the white. Not as often as I would have liked.
When I look back on that time I feel as though I aged years in a matter of months. The people around me noticed it and told me so, that I seemed sadder and older. I was sadder and older.
What's most unfortunate is that it can't be undone. The person, the thing, that steals our innocence takes it forever. There is no retrieval. Every moment we spend emulating it is a moment in deceit. The body is large and has room for many scars, and can heal them all. The parts may not work as well as they did before, but machine continues. The same is true with the soul and its pursuit of joy. We are not as efficient in our pursuit of souljoy, but we can still get there.
It's a much bumpier ride. And we disappoint the people we know along the way.
I forget what I was talking about. I need a cigarette.
non sum qualis eram. I am not such as I was.
I am alone tonight
But I know
I can mask it for a while
I can pretend
It's a beautiful thing
These are the nights I age
Young girls fawn
Lay me out on the lawn
They keep me young
Rejuvenate my soul
But it was nights like this
That got me old
Every drink I take
My soul gets heavier
Don't even have the energy
To fake a smile with the
Neighbors
Sweating in a balmy room
Smoke lingers in the air
I attack my liver
I attack my lungs
I attack my heart
I attack the people who
I attack my liver
I attack the people who
Loved me
I can vaguely remember a time
When every girl in school...
Was that even me?
Now they shudder
As I look them up and down
My only regret
Is not taking advantage
Of every one of them
I'd be lying if I said
It never crossed my mind
Paint a red cross
And announce my time
Lonely days see me let go
And I'm happy here
Lonely days see me let go
Of the charming boy I used to be
Glad to be dead inside
It's what I chose
~~~~~
My avatar picture above would have been taken in December of 2006. 18 years old. I was in what was my past and what would be my future room playing one of Dad's guitars. Above my head (visible in the full version of the picture) is a Shell gasoline sign that now lives on a wall in my Dad's garage.
I would have been smack dab in the middle of a pretty long cocaine and pot binge when the photo was taken. The day the photo was taken my Dad and I went and shot my Grandpa's rifles that he'd inherited at a shooting range. The first and only time I've ever shot a gun. That night the party continued.
What I love about the beard was the way it personified my loneliness at the time. The outside had come to reflect the inside: unkempt, messy, dirty. Bad. People avoid drug addicts. People avoid people with messy beards and hair. The day I shaved the beard I also shaved my head and went to class for the first time in weeks. Two girls I'd been eyeballing (you know the ones you stare at and never ever talk to) all semester came and sat by me during the lecture. I've stayed clean shaven and (mostly) short haired ever since.
No, I didn't have the balls to talk to them. Baby steps.
In those days (both pre and post shaving the beard) I spent every night by myself. I'd moved into my new home in August, and the first roommate had left by the end of November, the second roommate came in January and left in March. I would sit at my desk on my laptop and drink whiskey and smoke pot. Occasionally I could score the white. Not as often as I would have liked.
When I look back on that time I feel as though I aged years in a matter of months. The people around me noticed it and told me so, that I seemed sadder and older. I was sadder and older.
What's most unfortunate is that it can't be undone. The person, the thing, that steals our innocence takes it forever. There is no retrieval. Every moment we spend emulating it is a moment in deceit. The body is large and has room for many scars, and can heal them all. The parts may not work as well as they did before, but machine continues. The same is true with the soul and its pursuit of joy. We are not as efficient in our pursuit of souljoy, but we can still get there.
It's a much bumpier ride. And we disappoint the people we know along the way.
I forget what I was talking about. I need a cigarette.
non sum qualis eram. I am not such as I was.