As Long As It’s Instantly
As long as it happens instantly
I don’t mind it
I don’t mind it
As long as it happens just for me
I don’t mind it
I don’t mind it
Rushin down the hillside in a gust of foggy air,
Rattlin’ through the trees with spider webs for hair,
Not from round these parts, a heart upon her breast,
Crash into my body with a latch and catch my breath
By god I didn’t know it, was I really so naive?
I would come to grips as quick as rainfall through the leaves.
Hurtin is my specialty, don’t you know my face?
I'd plumb forgotten peace when I left this verdant place.
As long as it happens instantly
I don’t mind it
I don’t mind it
As long as it happens just for me
I don’t mind it
I don’t mind it
Rushing down the star fields in a wave of black abyss,
Things they are a’Changin’ with the dead gods horrid kiss,
I thought it would be painful, all my atoms flung about,
But there wasn’t time to feel, or hurt, or speak, or even shout.
What’s that lonesome feeling when you’re floating in the black?
What’s that silly inkling when you know just what you lack?
What’s that sick sensation, were you not among your friends?
Who the fuck could guess that this is where it all would end?
As long as it happens instantly
I don’t mind it
I don’t mind it
As long as it's all of us, not just me
I don’t mind it
I don’t mind it
As long as it happens instantly
I don’t mind it
I don’t mind it
As long as it's all of us, not just me
I don’t mind it
I don’t mind it
Abigail
Don’t start with me, Abigail.
The red and orange flames sit still on the sill casting dreamy summer glaze on the face of my kill.
Oh Abigail. Oh, Abigail.
Don’t break my heart again, Abigail.
The winds from the east carry death on their backs, and fire rides along on the smallest of drafts.
Oh Abigail. Oh, Abigail.
I swear that I’m sorry, oh, Abigail.
Crying in my arms, I’m holding distracted, you look up at me, with pain quite protracted.
Oh Abigail, oh Abigail.
Cutting the twine for sweet Abigail.
You’ve fallen so far, there was rope and a blade,
I’d pictured quite often the cozy French glade,
Please Abigail, oh Abigail.
Forgotten Lullaby
Don’t go counting sheep,
I’ll help you fall asleep,
Whisper lullabies
While you say goodnight,
Under the trees.
My one and only,
Hold you while you fall asleep,
Whisper lullabies,
While you shut your eyes,
My castle, my keep.
Reflections of moonlight,
A lamp at the poolside,
Somewhere near the end,
You called me your friend,
Then left in the night.
Ask you to show me,
Responsive but ghostly,
Forgotten lullabies,
You didn’t say goodbye,
Under the trees.
Trying Again
Chopin was playing in my headphones.
I was remembering the night I dropped you off and I said that someday I might try again with you.
You laughed and said “okay” as if to say “that will never happen.” I smiled. It hurt but it felt like the old us. I didn’t have the right to be offended anymore, anyway.
For a moment, while the nocturne lulled, I pictured us older. Somehow amended, we were both dying, and we thought we could do that together.
It was very cinematic. My chest was tight, my leg was bouncing, I was so anxious, unrelated. But there was a touch of the bittersweet, a return to days when we cared.
The song ended on a single tinkling note and I returned to my work.
Enough fantasy.
Sleeping in a Broken Bed
I’ve been sleeping in a broken bed.
Literally.
I sat down on the side I usually sleep on and my ass and the mattress kept going, straight through the wooden slats to the carpet below.
I then cartoonishly tried to stand up, unsuccessfully, falling back and flailing.
To make matters worse I was naked (don’t ask).
But now, I’m sleeping in a broken bed. Every night. I keep scooting towards the middle.
Inevitably I roll back down into the valley of discomfort, the plains of a twisted spine.
Makes me think about broken beds in a more spiritual sense.
Living with my ex just before we broke up, and how she had shut me out and I was too dumb or optimistic or scared or dependent to see it and let go...yet.
That was certainly a broken bed. Bisected. Her side, my side.
We used to tangle our legs together like the roots of 2 trees below the earth, in the warmth of a blanket and our own company.
She liked it when I squeezed her.
We traded that bed when we moved apart, for this bed. She bought a new one and I took our friends’.
In a way 1 bed became 2 I suppose. It was broken further. One part shattered glass, one part light refracted.
I don’t like sleeping in broken beds.