You should have said yes,
Or you wouldn’t be in a bag thrown over my shoulder.
With no air holes, your body gets colder.
If you survive, I’ll call you my princess.
she’ll be tied to the radiator,
so i can pretend to date her.
You should have said yes,
Or you wouldn’t be in a bag thrown over my shoulder.
With no air holes, your body gets colder.
If you survive, I’ll call you my princess.
she’ll be tied to the radiator,
so i can pretend to date her.
Flipping screens, balls galore,
But I always stay, waiting for more.
A girl out of the blue, caught my eye,
Finally, a soul to speak before I die.
Meaningful conversations consist of “ASL”,
All those horny bastards can go to hell.
Snapping, Cracking, Stretching his bones.
Waking up from another night alone.
In this, his life, no better than death,
He matured in to nothing.
Living day in, dying day out.
Everywhere around him is the talk of love.
But, in his depths only resides emotional drought.
Wanting to feel, touch, or even hold.
Treated like a monster chased with pitchforks.
He waits alone, to die.
Only wishing to grow old.
This “has been” man turned to beast,
Not by his own will,
But the misguided paths others follow.
A life no better then death,
Confused and alone.
This child died before given life,
Maturing in to notihng.
To fathom this situation,
is to live it.
To live it, is to die.
On timid night I met you,
I could feel the connection in those eyes.
From the sparkle set in with milky moonrise,
To your cheeks filled with cardinal hue.
I wish these moments could last eternally,
But time has only set you astray.
Emotion and advances pushed away,
Wounds set and broken internally.
12:08 A.M. on the backstreet,
This is where all the meaningless kids meet.
Playing guitar and drinking beer,
We have nothing else, it’s very clear.
Our lives lie in the shallowest gutter,
With nothing to do but sit and loiter.
Sitting, destitute, time has come to a halt,
I’ve opened my eyes and now take your love with a grain of salt.
My imagination took control and seized my heart,
Though I probably should have known better from the start.
Lonely, a man adrift.
A life not wasted, because my life is insignificant.
Lost in a small vicinity, Lincolnton.
Unneeded, vacant, suicidal, nostalgic, but uncaring.
Slow on the start,
And I’ll never finish this race.
All of this takes too much heart,
This heart has taken as much as it can embrace.
So, I’ll sit here writing for days,
Alone in this room of lost dreams.
Just to make attempts at art that will never be displayed,
To give myself time to cover the voids and sew up it’s seams.
