Impressions
I’m under the impression left by your giant footprint.
I can never live up to your expectations so I’ve decided to outlive my embarrassments.
I’m tied to the post-traumatic stress,
About to be burned at the stakes we were playing for.
I’m no closer to understanding the divine plan.
I’m struck by deja voodoo.
They say that repetition is the secret to comedy. I hope so. I want to find this funny one day.
A smile appears on my face like the flicker of a bat wing. So quick it’s not even sure it was there.
I’ve spent so long trying to figure out how to act that I slipped out my own back door.
I suppose that’s why I feel I spend so much time talking out of my ass.
Hot air dances on the tip of my tongue, waiting to catch fire.
I’m a Hindenberg looking for some humanity.
Trying to catch fish with an internet.
If I was a campsite, I’d be two tents.
I feel like I’m forging my own signature half the time.
I’m in the same prison you are. That’s why I want to know your cell number.
I want to share my sentences with you.
Playing spin the bottle by myself is hard to do quietly and the suspense isn’t really the same.
It’s always me and the bottle that end up kissing and both of us get so drunk we feel empty.
I want ears of unicorn, ground up downers, and half a pound of pounding.
Mixed with moth-wing dust, your eyes, my nose and a secret.
I want it baked at body temperature for nine months until it rises.
The only ring I want is the sound the phone makes when you call me for no reason.
I want to tear off the rear-view mirror from our car and carry it with me so I can see you the way my heart does. Larger than you appear.
I want to look at your reflection the same way that Perseus had to look at Medusa because I know that to look directly at you will turn me to rock.
I don’t go to church on Sunday but when we were together, I’d say His name into your neck in a repetitive, monosyllabic litany of bliss that was the farthest thing from being taken in vain.
It was honest thanks thrown to a being that, if He exists, must be divine if he was responsible for creating you and giving me the opportunity to meet you.
I must have been smothering you with kisses because after a while, you couldn’t breathe.
Every time you turned around, I ran my fingers over you like you were a Tibetan prayer wheel.
And the wheels were spinning but we weren’t going anywhere.
You leaned on the horn, I turned up the radio.
I didn’t see the signs that said sharp turns were ahead so I was left.
And you were right. Looking back, there was only one way it could have stopped.
So the bed’s huge, movies and concerts are cheaper by exactly
half and I’ve been thinking about getting a pet because I feel crazy when I talk to myself.
I’m a strong man living through weak days walking a solitary path to a weak end.
I’m only fronting because I want you back so much.
I’m lying at the bottom of a dinosaur depression made by a creature as extinct as our relationship.
I’m under the impression left by your giant footprint.
tags
I can never live up to your expectations so I’ve decided to outlive my embarrassments.
I’m tied to the post-traumatic stress,
About to be burned at the stakes we were playing for.
I’m no closer to understanding the divine plan.
I’m struck by deja voodoo.
They say that repetition is the secret to comedy. I hope so. I want to find this funny one day.
A smile appears on my face like the flicker of a bat wing. So quick it’s not even sure it was there.
I’ve spent so long trying to figure out how to act that I slipped out my own back door.
I suppose that’s why I feel I spend so much time talking out of my ass.
Hot air dances on the tip of my tongue, waiting to catch fire.
I’m a Hindenberg looking for some humanity.
Trying to catch fish with an internet.
If I was a campsite, I’d be two tents.
I feel like I’m forging my own signature half the time.
I’m in the same prison you are. That’s why I want to know your cell number.
I want to share my sentences with you.
Playing spin the bottle by myself is hard to do quietly and the suspense isn’t really the same.
It’s always me and the bottle that end up kissing and both of us get so drunk we feel empty.
I want ears of unicorn, ground up downers, and half a pound of pounding.
Mixed with moth-wing dust, your eyes, my nose and a secret.
I want it baked at body temperature for nine months until it rises.
The only ring I want is the sound the phone makes when you call me for no reason.
I want to tear off the rear-view mirror from our car and carry it with me so I can see you the way my heart does. Larger than you appear.
I want to look at your reflection the same way that Perseus had to look at Medusa because I know that to look directly at you will turn me to rock.
I don’t go to church on Sunday but when we were together, I’d say His name into your neck in a repetitive, monosyllabic litany of bliss that was the farthest thing from being taken in vain.
It was honest thanks thrown to a being that, if He exists, must be divine if he was responsible for creating you and giving me the opportunity to meet you.
I must have been smothering you with kisses because after a while, you couldn’t breathe.
Every time you turned around, I ran my fingers over you like you were a Tibetan prayer wheel.
And the wheels were spinning but we weren’t going anywhere.
You leaned on the horn, I turned up the radio.
I didn’t see the signs that said sharp turns were ahead so I was left.
And you were right. Looking back, there was only one way it could have stopped.
So the bed’s huge, movies and concerts are cheaper by exactly
half and I’ve been thinking about getting a pet because I feel crazy when I talk to myself.
I’m a strong man living through weak days walking a solitary path to a weak end.
I’m only fronting because I want you back so much.
I’m lying at the bottom of a dinosaur depression made by a creature as extinct as our relationship.
I’m under the impression left by your giant footprint.
tags