A Splutter Of Words And A Few More Weeks, Till We All Fake A Smile For The Holidays

I may be between the lines
But you’re cutting it a bit too close
Everytime I’m trying to find the word
And your catching me with an antonymn
Do you remember when we felt like kids?
And this world couldn’t break us down?
Now these shards are laughing at us
And it’s to late to say
Anything to make me feel better about myself
Or anything that’ll restore some faith
“Always yours” never said so much
As when you confess your regrets in your journal.
For what it was worth
I could insult your back
But it’s always me, here, forever
And I’m used to sharing alone.

I feel like I’m always switching friends that I’m losing the whereabouts of the ground. The lawyers on TV dance around the courtroom like that’s their real job. Where do they go when the screen switches to monochromatic crackling lines? I’m losing myself in this dance of backstabbers, but we never knew who was winning. You always say something that makes me feel like the camera’s on me. I’ve always had a problem with the stage and spotlight.

I spent the whole day dancing in circles and figuratively too. This isn’t the first or the last time I can’t pick a side. I never like to dissappoint. But a five star review is quite costly, now isn’t it? I don’t think you’re understanding my moves, but you were supposed to be the leader. How do you drop the piano and expect me to play right after? I haven’t tried pulling the rabbit out of the hat yet. And still, you’re always pushing me into the dark, then they wonder why my eyes and mind turned black.

The daily tabloids are for the girls that need some guidence, not for the girls who’s lips might move faster than enough. So should we all get a divorce from a wannabe rap star, who’s child we bare, and then get married in Italy? Parents tell their little girls to live their own life, but when that life includes a cd with so many scratches it looks like your wrist and some not so skillfully poetic words, who’s to blame now?

I forgot to write you confessions for a little while now. I’ve been too preocupied with this clearance rack video game called “Life”. Maybe it’ll be a good X-Mas present for you. Hello, reality is on line two. Then who’s on line one? I’ve been drinking green tea and hoping it’ll clear my vision of green. The color is nice, but a little too much is quite the sin, I hear.

The plane flying over-head just flew past the birds. Destiny is evolving into the sixty-year-old uncle sitting on your couch smoking marijuana…. legally. So much pain, you needed to fake an escape root. Through Red Riding Hood’s woods and into the Little Mermaid’s Sea, while you follow the yellow brick road, you can wander as far as you want as long as you keep your imagination locked to your front door. My mind is afraid of heights and still sitting on your second story windowsill, but my eyes are looking anywhere else. What happened to “you’ll always miss your childhood”? Because I thought I’d move to Neverland, but the rent was just too high. And now I’m still between happy that I’m here and sad that I’m nearly never.

These bands, whining about broken hearts and crashing hips, didn’t create the scene. The kids trapped by four walls with razor sharp dollars did.

“So don’t tell me what to write,
And don’t tell me that I’m wrong
And don’t tell me not to reference my songs within my songs
You backstabber! hope grabber! greedy fucking fit haver!
BACKSTABBER!”

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A Splutter Of Words And A Few More Weeks, Till We All Fake A Smile For The Holidays

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