Poem Bits
Unfinished things. Mind dump. Last two are specifically lyrics, although I suppose the first two could be put to music like anything could.
Contemplating some strange yellow hair
I pulled from the blanket.
It was wound 'round so tightly in the threads
That is must have been mashed
Against a shoulder or a hip
Something that ground and twisted and messed and tangled.
I hate you, and it was just a hair.
Imagine if I'd found a foot.
----------------------------------
I spent the entire night
Wishing that you would loose your footing
And fall into me.
It was icy and I worried that if I walked
2 paces ahead of you
You would fall backwards.
2 paces behind you
You would fall forwards.
So I walked beside you, silently praying
That you would fall in love with me instead.
And that I would be strong enough to catch you.
-----------------------------------
I feel like a rockstar
So why don't I speak appropriately.
Putting syllables where they have absolutely no right to be.
Waxing words until they shine with antipathy.
With short attention spans I
Stare at the nightstand and
Rock with sympathetic irony
Sympathetic irony
Writing songs about writing songs
About listening too long
Until it sounds wrong
And it doesn't even rhyme anymore.
I feel like a player
So why don't I just play that fucking game.
Wisdom into metered serving size Confucius would be ashamed.
Analectic rejects because they're all the same.
--------------------------------
If I drove a thousand miles, landing hardy in the rain.
Pushing heartache all the while, wishing that my tide would change.
At least I'd be a thousand miles away
And you'd have next to little say
I could wittle moons into days
Believing everything we used to believe in was mostly still the same.
Would call you on the phone I'd--purchased out on highway five.
Laughing tell you I had died, so you'd know I was alive.
Then maybe I could've stopped loving you.
I tried like I was meaning to
It's on a list marked "Things to Do"
The embarassment of my failure is far too great for me to describe.
Contemplating some strange yellow hair
I pulled from the blanket.
It was wound 'round so tightly in the threads
That is must have been mashed
Against a shoulder or a hip
Something that ground and twisted and messed and tangled.
I hate you, and it was just a hair.
Imagine if I'd found a foot.
----------------------------------
I spent the entire night
Wishing that you would loose your footing
And fall into me.
It was icy and I worried that if I walked
2 paces ahead of you
You would fall backwards.
2 paces behind you
You would fall forwards.
So I walked beside you, silently praying
That you would fall in love with me instead.
And that I would be strong enough to catch you.
-----------------------------------
I feel like a rockstar
So why don't I speak appropriately.
Putting syllables where they have absolutely no right to be.
Waxing words until they shine with antipathy.
With short attention spans I
Stare at the nightstand and
Rock with sympathetic irony
Sympathetic irony
Writing songs about writing songs
About listening too long
Until it sounds wrong
And it doesn't even rhyme anymore.
I feel like a player
So why don't I just play that fucking game.
Wisdom into metered serving size Confucius would be ashamed.
Analectic rejects because they're all the same.
--------------------------------
If I drove a thousand miles, landing hardy in the rain.
Pushing heartache all the while, wishing that my tide would change.
At least I'd be a thousand miles away
And you'd have next to little say
I could wittle moons into days
Believing everything we used to believe in was mostly still the same.
Would call you on the phone I'd--purchased out on highway five.
Laughing tell you I had died, so you'd know I was alive.
Then maybe I could've stopped loving you.
I tried like I was meaning to
It's on a list marked "Things to Do"
The embarassment of my failure is far too great for me to describe.