sometimes we ignore those things we care most about
maybe you could make me out of someone else. just fill that skin up with all the ideas i've shed. give her a list of words to memorize and brown eyes. and all the songs i've recorded for you on magnetic tape... dispensed before cd burners were all the rage... our child would be six by now and you just laugh and say thank god for being selfish or things wouldn't have turned out so great... maybe this person that i think i am is a tired worn out ghost... begging for the grave... or perhaps haunted not haunting, hunted not hunting... all the difference a day could make is displayed in all the lines on your face... and i know you're not here for me... a mystery solved so long ago... what rumbles behind your breast plate feeds on youth and lives so fake... what brings me back everytime is the anger that i feel welling up in my throat... the fists i clench as if to hit as if i have the energy... how do you when i can't see or smell you how do you make me so fucking angry... i want to stab you watch you crumble in a corner as i finally come down on you... an act of god, a force of nature... hell hath no fury... but i refuse to do more than angrily type... click clack death