mumble when I mean it.

"

Why don’t you ever want to play?
I’m tired of this piece of string.
You sleep as much as I do now, and you
don’t eat much of anything.

I don’t know who you’re talking to
I made a search through every room,
but all I found was dust that moved
in shadows of the afternoon.

And listen,
about those bitter songs you sing?
They’re not helping anything.
They won’t make you strong.

So, we should open up the house.
Invite the tabby two doors down.
You could ask your sister, if
she doesn’t bring her Basset Hound.
Ask of things you shouldn’t miss:
tape-hiss and the Modern Man,
The Cold War and Card Catalogues,
to come and join us if they can,

for girly drinks and parlor games.
We’ll pass around the easy lie
of absolutely no regrets,
and later maybe you could try
to let your losses dangle off
the sharp edge of a century,
and talk about the weather, or
how the weather used to be.

And I’ll cater
with all the birds that I can kill.
Let their tiny feathers fill
disappointment.

Lie down;
lick the sorrow from your skin.
Scratch the terror and begin
to believe you’re strong.

All you ever want to do is drink and watch TV,
and frankly that thing doesn’t really interest me.
I swear I’m going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood
if you don’t stop the self-defeating lies you’ve been repeating
since the day you brought me home.
I know you’re strong.

"

"This may read like an epitaph, a commemorative telling on my behalf. But before this thing gets dated and printed, we’re going to need a few more witnesses. My eyes are weak, so I could never focus on decisions that have left me hopeless. I’ve chiseled my initials in the shovel that I’ve been using to dig my own hole. Driving faster in the wrong direction, convincing them this was expected. I’ve lost my mirrors through the crashes, so looking back just can’t happen. Living up to how we feel about ourselves: one foot in the grave; one foot in our mouths. When you hear those sirens, just know that they’re for us. You’ll know who we are by the mark on our sleeve, in the shape of a heart that never could beat."

"You are calm and reposed Let your beauty unfold Pale white like the skin Stretched over your bones Spring keeps you ever close You are second hand smoke You are so fragile and thin Standing trial for your sins Holding onto yourself the best you can You are the smell before the rain You are the blood in my veins"

"I’ll sing in silence, lay beside you. With my face there on your cheek. My stomach swears there’s comfort there. In the warmth of the blankets on your bed. My stomach’s always been a liar- I’ll believe it’s lies again."

"I am a handmade handgun.
Operated by paper goods.
Loaded up with bullets of blank pages torn from your little black book.
You can call me all of your favorites.
All of those dirty looks.
You know I’ll be drunk and waitin’… on the steps of St. Anthony’s church.
I thought of everything…even your paper ring.
The organ’s playin’ our song…playin’ our song…so sing along."

"I choose my company by the beating of their hearts, not the swelling of their heads."