This isn't really anything.
THIS ISN”T REALLY ANYTHING
This is it. This is everything. The taste of the whole world is coming out as spittle on my chin. A rush of adrenaline, this is everything. A battle of what’s the left right and centre there is no decision. Dissect. Redirect. Split in half and hollow out my insides. Prop me up and make me smile, pin my lips with brass pins, while you sew my rib cage shut to stem the flow. Did you get everything you wanted? This is everything this is always there is no tomorrow when tomorrow is nothing but… (And separate dream). Tonight will bleed on until infinity in your eyes and in my mind. There is everything in the spittle on my chin. Forget the things I lost in being emptied now all I have is to gain. There is much room for improvement, let’s reconstruct me; the ‘me’ that I always wanted to be. The me that hides inside the sad sad eyes that are always leaking. The sand the dirt the wind…..the cold world. Anything and everything is grey. Always and forever everything is split and hollow. Together and alone. Inside the middle of this tired old line there is everything; there is infinite possibility for growth in my empty chest. There is a swelling and never ever…ever and always tired of hallways where I slip and fall to sleep a slumber of numbering days with cigarettes and you don’t even know. Too many……….stop. Release let go got to go and run like there is a beast…a piston…a proposition, an idea you left in my empty chest to run. The stitches itch and the solder reeks of my cauterized flesh. Repent. Run to the top of this cliff and let it go…hang on till it slips and rolls off the tips of your fingers while you grit your teeth ’cause when it’s gone it rips and tears at the seam and opens up and you are gutted once again. Let it go… come on come on. Thissssss this is it… This; this is a slack jaw and a mind set with a determined pace and steady are the legs that carry the stiff and staggering torso. Separate the legs from the body, it is two ideas and it’s blurred like watercolour paintings. It’s the never-ending summers day, it drags on oooonnnnn…so let it drag and swell and fill the cavity you dug for it in the first place….because this is gonna be everything. Peel my lips with the precision of the surgeon you never were. Stick them next to Bobby Orr and Michael Jorden, the paste I can almost taste while I lick my bleeding lipless swollen tears. There is everything in the spittle on my chin. There is motion in the dark. It’s you in the corner holding my index fingers. It’s a funny little game you’re playing sweet one. It’s a funny little painting. BBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLUUUUUUURRRRRED. Smmmmmmmmmmmeared. Bloody and too too you oh it’s so you put it on forever. Wear like it’s always the right weather. Don’t lie I see you smiling, sure the black hair suites you…..nah, I never really liked my scalp anyway. Its ok, you can build the you you wanted, you can stick and paste and duct tape everything. Just leave me the brass pins they help not to stain. Slice the flesh down the middle of the inside of my forearms, like on Terminator, and stick the brass pins in the open flaps and keep them stuck to the canvas. You’re Picasso, you’re Van Gogh…you’re my valentine. Oh sweet thing I see you there come on and let it go. Throw my fingers off the edge of the cliff, keep the nails though, the colour suites you.
This is it. This is everything. The taste of the whole world is coming out as spittle on my chin. A rush of adrenaline, this is everything. A battle of what’s the left right and centre there is no decision. Dissect. Redirect. Split in half and hollow out my insides. Prop me up and make me smile, pin my lips with brass pins, while you sew my rib cage shut to stem the flow. Did you get everything you wanted? This is everything this is always there is no tomorrow when tomorrow is nothing but… (And separate dream). Tonight will bleed on until infinity in your eyes and in my mind. There is everything in the spittle on my chin. Forget the things I lost in being emptied now all I have is to gain. There is much room for improvement, let’s reconstruct me; the ‘me’ that I always wanted to be. The me that hides inside the sad sad eyes that are always leaking. The sand the dirt the wind…..the cold world. Anything and everything is grey. Always and forever everything is split and hollow. Together and alone. Inside the middle of this tired old line there is everything; there is infinite possibility for growth in my empty chest. There is a swelling and never ever…ever and always tired of hallways where I slip and fall to sleep a slumber of numbering days with cigarettes and you don’t even know. Too many……….stop. Release let go got to go and run like there is a beast…a piston…a proposition, an idea you left in my empty chest to run. The stitches itch and the solder reeks of my cauterized flesh. Repent. Run to the top of this cliff and let it go…hang on till it slips and rolls off the tips of your fingers while you grit your teeth ’cause when it’s gone it rips and tears at the seam and opens up and you are gutted once again. Let it go… come on come on. Thissssss this is it… This; this is a slack jaw and a mind set with a determined pace and steady are the legs that carry the stiff and staggering torso. Separate the legs from the body, it is two ideas and it’s blurred like watercolour paintings. It’s the never-ending summers day, it drags on oooonnnnn…so let it drag and swell and fill the cavity you dug for it in the first place….because this is gonna be everything. Peel my lips with the precision of the surgeon you never were. Stick them next to Bobby Orr and Michael Jorden, the paste I can almost taste while I lick my bleeding lipless swollen tears. There is everything in the spittle on my chin. There is motion in the dark. It’s you in the corner holding my index fingers. It’s a funny little game you’re playing sweet one. It’s a funny little painting. BBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLUUUUUUURRRRRED. Smmmmmmmmmmmeared. Bloody and too too you oh it’s so you put it on forever. Wear like it’s always the right weather. Don’t lie I see you smiling, sure the black hair suites you…..nah, I never really liked my scalp anyway. Its ok, you can build the you you wanted, you can stick and paste and duct tape everything. Just leave me the brass pins they help not to stain. Slice the flesh down the middle of the inside of my forearms, like on Terminator, and stick the brass pins in the open flaps and keep them stuck to the canvas. You’re Picasso, you’re Van Gogh…you’re my valentine. Oh sweet thing I see you there come on and let it go. Throw my fingers off the edge of the cliff, keep the nails though, the colour suites you.