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