half-price

all night all night.
Today is just the epitome of all after-holiday days.
The religion is worn off and the masses are fat and lazy.
The chocolate is melting by the fireplace and we are all
part of some psycho-analytical essay on the human condition.
This is me on steroids. This is me on speed. This is me not
doing anything. This is me cheese smile for the end of the era!
The end of the polaroid era. This is the end of the polaroid
era. This is the end of my obsession. Find a hobby you like right now.
Find a boy that you like right now. Trade your mind for a bike right now.
Sell your soul for spike right now.

There is the creepy guy on the metro with the lip rings. There is the
toungue-tied voice of the singer on the radio. There is the rosy-cheeked
rockstar look alike standing in front of my Christmas tree! There is
the one who doesn't call back. There is the other deeply unhappy person
seat underneath the tree with the guitar strings round wound his neck.

They're all half-price today and the sad little dreams are still so impossible.
The little red tricycle Santa forgot to send is 20% off at Macy's today. The
empty kitchen cabinet is only $40. The entire stock market is half off on boxing
day cause no ones wants CocaCola(tm) when they're in a recession! Grandma's calling
the suicide hotline for encouragement cause she just can't live through another
Panic of 1837 and they foreclosed her trailer anyway. They're all going to meetings
but they aren't doing any meeting. Some people are always changing and some people never do.

all our dark little dreams are impossible

Disgusted, I destroyed the image of you in mind.
The one where you are in the rain-soaked night,
laughing and smiling up at the streetlights
and the dark clouds. Disgusted, I made up that
image to explain the way I thought we touched
so softly as to disturb the oils of our skin.

Often, I will imitate the photograph in my head.
Often I pretend I travel fast and the drops
are particles of light speeding towards my
unyielding form, crashing and catching on
my eyelashes. I will lie on the asphalt and
look skyward.

Truthfully, you would only be perplexed.

the way expensive things look

You make me happy the way $140 bomber jackets and escapist films do.
What you must understand about me is that I am a deeply unhappy person.
This week I scratched my arms. This week I lost my breath. This week I cried during an explosion. This week I threw up.
I want to throw eggs at your house and stones at your legs. I want to stroke your hair. I want to wear your clothes. I want to key your car. I want to see your smile. I want to scratch your face. I want to read your mind.
Sometimes I know that to feel better I need really loud music and a lot of space to jump and thrash about. I know that to feel better I need to see a movie that will make me cry. I need to hear the song they played at my cousin's funeral. I need you to know that you never ruled my life and I never let you. I need you to know that you were a fascination and nothing else. Sometimes I need someone to inform about the way the sun sets over the snow. Sometimes I need to throw paper out the window. Sometimes I need to kill bugs. Sometimes I need to envision you in the hospital before I can envision you getting better.
Sometimes I need to say that I never loved you and I never will. You need to know that my tears are not the ocean and you are not the vast empty sky and I am not your sparrow drifting toward it.