shut out, pimpled and angry.

i quietly tied all my guts into knots.

gave up on trying to make them,

i figured it'd take them too long to look up and besides...



it was undeniably clear to me i don't know why

when every other part of life seemed locked behind shutters

i knew what worthless dregs we all are then.



lucked out and found my favorite records

lying in wait at the birmingham mall.

the songs the i heard,

the occasional book

were the only fun i ever took.

and i got on with making myself.

the trick is just making yourself.



but when they're parking their cars on your chest

you've still got a view of the summer sky

to make it hurt twice when your restless body

caves to its whims

and suddenly struggles to take flight...



three thousand miles north east

i left all my friends at the morning bus stop shaking their heads.

"what kind of life you dream of? you're allergic to love."

yes i know but i must say in my own defense

it's been undeniable dear to me, i don't know why

when every other part of life seemed locked behind shutters

i knew the worthless dregs we are,

the selfless, loving saints we are,

the melting, sliding dice we've always been.

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