I'm Sure I Don't Need My Medication Today

Maybe it's the angle of the stage as I look to see you staring at me
or the glare of the lights in your cherry red Fender.
I'm pretty sure the flashing effects are just giving me epilepsy.

I can't help the way the speakers play tricks and your eyes deceive.
I'm sure that the color fakes a story just like Barbie's boobs fake Ken's attraction.
Don't blame me if the darkness reminds me that I'm alone and
when I see you there I can't help but think that isn't true anymore.

Whatever it is, there's no resignations for this career.
You can't walk back to make progress, or strum
backwards to make a beautiful chord.
So, as much as I hate to admit it,
I think I'm in love with a rock star.

Dirty Laundry

Days have gone by since I've moved from this spot.
Alone on my bed, the ceiling fan mesmerizes me,
as do your eyes, as I stare, content with the time
never moving past now, stuck at five past two.

But my closet stays open, calling for me to wake up.
Wake up and realize, the time spent looking in your eyes
is wasted time, useless while my dreams disintegrate.
Tell me it's too late to go back, no time to erase mistakes.

These are mistakes not even Wite Out can correct.
The stains on this tshirt are too much for OxiClean.
They'll accumulate until they've become one with the fabric.
Mistakes that become who I am, never to be forgotten.

One of these days I'll pick myself up, decide that my
mistakes are too much of who I am, I can be better.
I promise I can be better, and you know I'll stay true.
One of these days I'll decide it's time to change.

Fall

A rush of wind whips past me.
I feel weightless for a moment,
but it never seems to satisfy
my devoir to feel solid ground.

Falling into God knows where,
I never seem to touch the bottom.
Never sense the relief of knowing
I'm safe where I belong.

I plunge but never feel the ground.
Why is all the pain on the way down?
It seems too masochistic to admit.
I want to hit rock bottom, just once.

The terrain is rough, I'm so close
I can see the ridges of rocks
so sharp, threatening to kill.
I almost lust for the affliction.

Let me fall to the depths of desire.
Let my actions take me where they may.
I need to feel the warmth of earth
even if it leads to a certain, unsought fate.

Which, we all know, it always does.

'Assume' Makes an Ass out of You and Me

"You're not looking within the writing, Joseph," the instructor said, rapping her hands against the table, "It's clear that the character had a reason behind killing his father. He must have some psychological deficiency to do this. No one kills their paternal family members without reasoning." The man next to her, apparently named Joseph, sighed heavily and slouched, defeated at his own game.

"Now, who else has interpreted this work? You can tell by the heavy symbolism the author uses in the first line how he feels like a fish deprived of water, gasping for air, unable to find the right source of life. How can he, as a person, feel deprived of water or air? Now, in the next line he describes the suffering of the fish as the gills "move in an out as if the currents would continue to fill his lungs". Come on people! You have to see through this nonsense. You have to make it sound real. Does it sound like he was really writing about a fish?" The bell rings, signaling the adult group that the literature discussion session was over. Everyone exits the classroom and the instructor strides over towards the chalkboard, hands furiously scratching against the surface, scribbling analytical notes.

But not everyone has left the room. A man, sitting in the far back corner, a pen tucked neatly behind his ear and a cigarette between his teeth, simply laughs at their naivety. At the sound, the woman turns to look at him, a piece of half gone chalk still intertwined with her fingers.

"You're over-analyzing it," the man says, tossing the cigarette to the ground and putting out the slight blaze with the ball of his foot. "What if things are exactly what they seem?" She raises a hand to interject. "I know." He doesn't allow her to speak. "Your book says that poetry is never what it seems to be. But what if the author felt like writing about a fish because it was better than writing about a dead person, one without feeling?" She looked slightly stunned at his proposal. He did not reply to her reaction, merely walked to the door and pulled the pen from behind his ear, using it to gesture towards the teacher. "Put that in your book."

Hey man, long time no talk.

I kind of miss talking to you and giving you advice about where to get a job. You're a really nice kid; I remember the last conversation we had. You asked me how my benefit concert was going and I asked you if you got your bass fixed since you last slammed it up against a wall. Yeah, I'm telling you, a lot of stuff has changed since we last chatted. I bet you're girl problems have finally worked out; I haven't told you about my current "relations."

But as long as it's been, I feel like this conversation could go on as normal. No awkward pauses, just staying up til four in the morning and not giving a damn about school the next morning. Wait, what? You've graduated? Wow, I don't even know where to begin about that because last time I checked you were seventeen and still halfway through your senior year. I guess times really do change. But hey man, it's been a long time since we've talked and I don't want to make you suffer through one of my speeches.

So what's up?

Endurance

*Found this on my MySpace blog. Sort of forgotten, but I love it.

Can you fix me?
The doll on the shelf, her stuffing hanging out.
The guitar in the corner, three strings broken.
Repair the damage
before the foundations crumble at our feet.
We are the factors.
Are you the cause?
I can't distinguish between the two anymore.
Just blurred figures in my peripheral vision.

Pick up the pieces
Multitask; break them, too.
I've seen it all done before. You're nothing new.
Your lies are cliches, the movie played too many times.
The song overplayed on the radio.
Make sure to water the plants
before they dry out, too.
My temperature rises with your temper.
I'm sick of you.

But maybe, just maybe,
I'll give you a second chance.
Can you pick up the slack
for the years of your worthless killings?
I'm indecisive on you trustworthiness.
But I'll fall just one more time.
Just make sure you catch me
before the world opens upand swallows us both.

The hell we must endure
proceeding your wrongdoings
is nothing compared to this.

Serious Writer's Block

Yeah, this kind of sucks.