i know why you’re crying

i know where you are tonight

you’re not alone

you don’t have to try

you know i can hear him, calm down

cause i found out,

that you are living a lie

oh..if you want to… don’t call it.. oh if you want to..

oh.. if you want love,

if you want, don’t call it, don’t call it love,

don’t call it, don’t call it love

oh, if you want love, well don’t call.. 

i wish you would have my pain now,

that you were here tonight

you know what, never mind

and if you want to find me, ill be out

you say you love me

well, i guess that makes this alright

oh..if you want to, don’t call it.. oh if you want to..

oh.. if you want, love,

if you want, don’t call it, don’t call it love, don’t call it, don’t call it love

oh, if you want love, well don’t call.. 

it’s in your eyes, i’ve seen it all a million times.

it’s in your eyes, i know i’m nothing like you are. 

there’s the bioluminescent lighting you wanted, cradling the stage, but you are uninvited, in fact, i’m quite certain you’d like it that way. it was the moment the lasers pointed my way, the chill in the air, the derision of the sweating symmetry that swayed one way, then another, that took over me, when i had no other. there’s the tone, that’s the melody, too bad you couldn’t sing, you’d let me have the spotlight, knowing all to well my eyes blind; only for you. there’s the white dress, there’s the sound of success, not that it matters, why should it? what’s skin, what’s bone? what’s direction? you should go. 

under the sun, a bottle of rum, my guitar, our thumbs catching the air, it’s all ours. 

under the sun, let’s stick out our tongues, get a taste of the warfare, leave our taste in the air, let the butterflies have it, let the birds, let the bees, let the vultures have their fun.

leave our corpses, leave our battles, leave our vanity, leave our wisdom, leave our company, leave our names, leave our families, leave our histories.

let us become.

under the sun, share your cigarette, lend me your hair, let’s hide underground, let’s spit that taste from our mouths, the neon lighting, the digital dancing, the parties on fridays, the concerts on sundays, the stages that collapse and eat us whole

on with the show.

under the sun, lend me your glasses, let me see from your violence, let me hold open the peace you hold in your gun, hold on, bend me lower, break my back, take my lungs, do you breathe better that way? my fingers are foreign, they speak without tongues, look at the concert, i can’t see a thing from here, but look at the concert, no music, but i’m sure the song goes on.

under the sun, did you hear what they’re saying? i couldn’t catch a single word, leave your sneakers in the dirt, your toenails are missing, the devil and his work, crawl open the pavement, crush hard with your waiting, make sure you don’t leave a single drop.

under the sun, your laughter, your charm, your age showing me how much you haven’t done. i’m reaching out my arms, i’m breathing you in, closer, and closer still. you aren’t real, and i don’t want you to ever take form, don’t you ever crawl into that skin, remain a taste, a figment, a vagrant, a pair of eyes staring from the dark, telling me i’m not who we are. 

Happy birthday older brother, it won’t be long until i can ease the burden you’ve carried within all these years. You’ve always been the funny one, the one i looked up to growing up for being able to be the center of attention in any room you walked into. Without your blood, I would not have survived my first days of life. WIthout your sacrifices I would not be able to write this tonight, words shared with strangers, words i’ll probably repeat after I play you that song you like so much. I bought some wine tonight, your favorite: red. Mom will be there, your son, your loving wife, I can see the skies are missing within when I look in your direction. Now it seems you’d rather keep to the corners, perhaps age does that to man, as youth tries to conquer the world and the world keeps turning, leaving one turned into self instead. It won’t be long, and you will tell your stories again, and I will bask in the sunlight of your aura, so will mother, so will your son, so will all of them.

two mouths open

one heart closed

where to go from there

the tommy gun blows

hurry hurry hurry

i think it’s time for the show

oh, you weren’t listening

i really didn’t know

oh well, two mouths open

one heart disowned

but who needs another

when you’re the only one with clothes. 

we were playing with paper guns down the street. i shot you, you shot me. and so the games began until our blood was blue. you caught me, i caught you. i was floating on the highway just this afternoon. afraid of getting old. you know, you either die young or you live long enough to act like a child again. i can’t breathe, can you? 

it’s getting quiet in heaven

i feel like a whore 

i used to be right above em

now we fuck on the floor

im starting to remember

why i’m never alone

my throne is somewhere reckless

a happy place in hell

and i don’t call for protection

i don’t call home

the only way to forget yeah

is to sell your soul 

every night there’s a party

every day there’s a show

i don’t want somebody

i just like the control

the type to make you nervous

the type to make you wet

i don’t do it for nothing 

this is who I am 

i don’t lack the courage

i just don’t have the time

to be lying

to be shy

to be kind

to be blind

got some money

lets get high

got somebody?

i don’t mind

i had kicked her out, she broke her phone on the floor as the monster inside tried to devour me with eyes that tried their hardest to transform this tiny, beautiful muse into a sultan whose demands to remain my punisher, my lover, my sympathy, my agony be adhered to. A mixture of confusion, love, lust, hatred, pity, denial made for a photograph sharp with still life. Like portraits with only tears to suggest a sign of life remained. I didn’t know what i was doing, but i had to free myself by letting someone i love go. As we drove through industrial playgrounds and deserted islands we played with the skirt of great mysterious women who looked thoughtfully down on their adopted children. I can’t recall if we even shared a word, i remember floating through suffocating clouds of regret to come home, try on my new leather jacket, pierce a hole where the heart is, look in the mirror, smile, and know that true romance exists. 

a reason to smile? a reason to hug each other? 

we certainly don’t need a reason to fuck. drink. or take a hit.

do we need?

money?

perhaps, in order to pay rent that’s overpriced no matter which box you hide in.

you also need to eat

don’t forget those leather boots you want, the white jeans: high quality.

what about that car that’s supposed to talk for you?

alright, so to take care of that I guess we’ll need to give in just a bit. So let’s get a job.

oh man, not an office, not a supermarket! definitely not the garbage!

we’ll find something, we always do.

Now we’re digging away, gathering dust.

But there it is, the loft, the coffee machine, the big screen tv, those leather boots, the white jeans: high quality.

what did we want again?

now we want time to do what we really love to.

we’ll stretch our nights a bit longer, but now we’re not so full of life which art requires.

damn that boss of yours, damn those leather boots, those white jeans; death quality.