Mar 12, 2007 20:32
God never really did like me,
And maybe that’s why your elbows always found a way
To wake me up in the middle of my night.
(My night that happened twenty-four-seven.)
I never really liked the showers that cost me a quarter,
But I stole your pocket change and your sandals-
Not to mention your soap-
So everything was pretty a-ok.
You never really liked the way my face got dreamy
As you told me that we were just diamonds.
And…it was pretty rough, but we still shined.
I always loved the way you smelled like blue,
The same way that lemons tasted yellow,
And cut grass smelled like green-but wild grass
Smelled like brown and the stateline of Kansas.
It probably had to be New Orleans-
The intoxication got to me finally,
I was feeling old, so old, and I needed to relax.
You wanted to be Peter Pan, but you didn’t quite
Fill the shoes-it was a hotel, we wore no shoes.
You (almost) let me go.
You moved away, you wouldn’t hold me,
And I was hurt-but, at least I couldn’t feel it,
Alcohol, remember?
Sadly enough, I don’t think I ever apologized.
That summer was immortal.
Like glass, or that indie movie you wished could change
Everyone’s life, but it probably only touched you and you alone.