Pinup

I’ve got these random verses in my mind,
floating stanzas, rhythms, and rhymes.
I can see you in the corner of my eye,
but I’m tired and these visions lie.

Pent up and locked inside myself,
you worry - as you should - for my health.
But I am only searching for the meaning of “self”
and losing it in illusions of want and wealth.

I’m secretly scurrying like the sucker I’ve become
and listening closely to every song you hum.
My clichés leave even myself numb,
thinking of talent and wishing I had some.

I am your pathetic poster board pinup,
propped, pressed, and crumpled inside a paper cup.
I’m striving for a world that’s cleaned up,
as they blindly rely on their faith and their worship.

I’m sorry, but that’s just not enough
and you’re right: life’s damn rough.
But don’t call His bluff
and run away when things get tough.

All the words I write form nonsensical rants
and my brain begs my pen for patience.
Everything is broken into figments,
but I’m still just looking for people of substance.

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^Written from random lines. I dunno.^

This is really just a mesh of shit and it all blends together and probably makes no sense to anyone who doesn't read my mind / know my thought process.



"I know I will not call. It's this decision I have made, so I'm up all night chanting: 'vow I can't break.' I might bite my nails, so I can't scratch my face, but I'd still cut my hair if you asked the right way..." - Kevin Devine Not Over You Yet

Brink

So, you say, "I know what you need"
and I say, "I think you're wrong,"
but you parade yourself in front of me
and the temptation grows faster than I remembered.
I say, "Maybe you're not as wrong as I'd like to think"
and you smile and wink and waltz closer to me
while singing, "It's time to let this go, let it out, let me in,"
and I have no more strength to fight you off.
You're a dazzling caricature of my sanity
with your sparking edge and your smooth skin
and I wonder if it's worth it to stay away at all
because I just need something to help me think.
"Well, I guess you're not wrong at all," says I
and you sneak up a little closer to me
because my eyes are tired and i am anxious
so I humor myself with your attention.
Afterall, I'm on the brink of distaster anyway
and what could make it better from here,
but a cozy floor with a cold metallic friend
and a bottle filled with different colored tablets?
But then that song plays and I fall back to what's real
because that always brings me back
and I look around to see nothing familiar,
but an old has-been habit who's overstayed his welcome.
So, pulling away with my last ounce of will
you're now powerless and weak in the shadow of my resolve
because this is not where I began and it's not how I'll end up
and I see myself now as I should have been all along.


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This probably only makes sense to me, but if it makes sense to you...sorry.