(no subject)
Spent a lot of time thinking these last few days. Probably be a lot longer before the dust settles... got to let my heart catch up to what my head already knows. People ask me all kinds of questions about the things I've done, and I never have any satisfactory answers for them. Or when I have them, people scoff and reel off a list of should-haves. It's never good enough for anyone, and never good enough for me when I sit down and really think it through.
Man once said I had no conscience, no morals. I guess maybe I didn't, at least not the kind the world wants. Man says to me, I can be everything you need, give you everything you want, and I tell him he deserves better, he can get better, don't fucking settle for this. And he asks what 'this' is. Born white trash, gonna die white trash, never going to be anything BUT white trash. Heart wants white picket fences, flowery romance novels, perfect unending days. Head says there are no picket fences in your cards, get your head out the clouds and look down. Standing in the mud, been wading in mud for years, where the hell does it get you? Here, and you don't want to be here, do you? Lay your head down on the pillow, pray you don't wake. Make all the plans for the things you accumulate, who you'll give it all to, cos they won't keep them. Like leaves in the wind. What the hell did you ever do that was worth keeping, worth remembering?
Shit, even they don't want you. They've seen it, seen everything, and they don't want you. We'll call you sometime... fucking hell they will. And the stupid thing is, I felt good there. I liked who I was there. That's sad. And what does that girl have left now that they've kicked her to the curb too like everyone else? Blue walls and ripped up floors and cold empty days that turn into cold empty nights. They all want to judge, but they don't want to look under the shell, afraid of the rot they know is there. They expect it, they know it, they say it to my face - black creeping rot that burns and withers everything it touches. Born that way. Die that way, like the rest.
Got to let the heart catch up to the head... set the wheels in motion, find a new way of life that doesn't involve any of this. Burn it all away and turn inward, a tiny little world full of routines, no room for mistakes, no room for pain. Don't need anyone else now. No room left for tears, for white picket fences and broken dreams. Got to catch up...
Man once said I had no conscience, no morals. I guess maybe I didn't, at least not the kind the world wants. Man says to me, I can be everything you need, give you everything you want, and I tell him he deserves better, he can get better, don't fucking settle for this. And he asks what 'this' is. Born white trash, gonna die white trash, never going to be anything BUT white trash. Heart wants white picket fences, flowery romance novels, perfect unending days. Head says there are no picket fences in your cards, get your head out the clouds and look down. Standing in the mud, been wading in mud for years, where the hell does it get you? Here, and you don't want to be here, do you? Lay your head down on the pillow, pray you don't wake. Make all the plans for the things you accumulate, who you'll give it all to, cos they won't keep them. Like leaves in the wind. What the hell did you ever do that was worth keeping, worth remembering?
Shit, even they don't want you. They've seen it, seen everything, and they don't want you. We'll call you sometime... fucking hell they will. And the stupid thing is, I felt good there. I liked who I was there. That's sad. And what does that girl have left now that they've kicked her to the curb too like everyone else? Blue walls and ripped up floors and cold empty days that turn into cold empty nights. They all want to judge, but they don't want to look under the shell, afraid of the rot they know is there. They expect it, they know it, they say it to my face - black creeping rot that burns and withers everything it touches. Born that way. Die that way, like the rest.
Got to let the heart catch up to the head... set the wheels in motion, find a new way of life that doesn't involve any of this. Burn it all away and turn inward, a tiny little world full of routines, no room for mistakes, no room for pain. Don't need anyone else now. No room left for tears, for white picket fences and broken dreams. Got to catch up...