Anxieuse.
I've got no soul, just a hell of a lot of luck
And a pocket full of magnetic words mixing themselves up
I just want to pretend that I belong for one more day
Then it's off into the ocean, in the salt and tears and spray.
I can't talk to my friends, they're too far away
I built a telegraph wire in a sad and sorry state
For I've no knowledge of mechanics, electrics, or math
I just fuck things around and memorize Plath,
I'd run away at the drop of a hat,
No, I'm too scared to go beyond the beaten path
My heart is pounding like a victim of withdrawal
They need an answer, I stall and stall and stall.
Now the saltwater's around me, above and below
Where do I go? How do I know?
I sent an S.O.S. to a dear friend of mine
Trying so hard to chain the words to their lines
But my wandering hand drew a picture instead
And I put on a stamp and a return address
I didn't think she'd deign to reply
But she did - "It's beautiful, you've got such an eye -
"But I can tell something's off, no, something's not right,
You made no shadows, so there can't be light.
Sheila, I hope you're not drowning again
We both know you don't know how to swim."
Well, it was good to hear from her, such a lifted weight
Because I get so anxious, I make myself late
Everything's so transmutable, though,
The higher the high, the lower the low.
I just want to find some philosophy that works
I'll close my eyes, pick from a hat of words
But it'll be stupid, I know I'll just hate it,
So absurd, disjointed, and unrelated.
I think I know love, but I've never played it
It had no instructions, looked too complicated
So I took it back, asked for a refund
But they laughed at me, and the laughter, it stung.
Guess I'm too dumb, guess I'm too young,
Guess I should go and cut off my tongue,
So I folded Love up and locked it away
It's in the attic of my childhood home today.
I think I know life, but I don't know how to live
I can't make decisions, they all end up shit
Opportunities scare me, I let them pass by
And fill in the gaps in my logic with lies.
But you won't see me cry, such is my pride
If I knew where my head was, I'd hold it up high
And I'll probably become who I said I won't be
But a hypocrite is better than nobody.
--
Heavily influenced by the songwriting/lyricism of Conor Oberst.
About once a year, I can actually write a rhyming poem without throwing aside the paper in disgust and frustration after four lines. It's a pretty momentous occasion.
This is also very likely the only rhyming poem I've ever written that is completely personal and truthful. Except for the part about the friend. I made that up.
And a pocket full of magnetic words mixing themselves up
I just want to pretend that I belong for one more day
Then it's off into the ocean, in the salt and tears and spray.
I can't talk to my friends, they're too far away
I built a telegraph wire in a sad and sorry state
For I've no knowledge of mechanics, electrics, or math
I just fuck things around and memorize Plath,
I'd run away at the drop of a hat,
No, I'm too scared to go beyond the beaten path
My heart is pounding like a victim of withdrawal
They need an answer, I stall and stall and stall.
Now the saltwater's around me, above and below
Where do I go? How do I know?
I sent an S.O.S. to a dear friend of mine
Trying so hard to chain the words to their lines
But my wandering hand drew a picture instead
And I put on a stamp and a return address
I didn't think she'd deign to reply
But she did - "It's beautiful, you've got such an eye -
"But I can tell something's off, no, something's not right,
You made no shadows, so there can't be light.
Sheila, I hope you're not drowning again
We both know you don't know how to swim."
Well, it was good to hear from her, such a lifted weight
Because I get so anxious, I make myself late
Everything's so transmutable, though,
The higher the high, the lower the low.
I just want to find some philosophy that works
I'll close my eyes, pick from a hat of words
But it'll be stupid, I know I'll just hate it,
So absurd, disjointed, and unrelated.
I think I know love, but I've never played it
It had no instructions, looked too complicated
So I took it back, asked for a refund
But they laughed at me, and the laughter, it stung.
Guess I'm too dumb, guess I'm too young,
Guess I should go and cut off my tongue,
So I folded Love up and locked it away
It's in the attic of my childhood home today.
I think I know life, but I don't know how to live
I can't make decisions, they all end up shit
Opportunities scare me, I let them pass by
And fill in the gaps in my logic with lies.
But you won't see me cry, such is my pride
If I knew where my head was, I'd hold it up high
And I'll probably become who I said I won't be
But a hypocrite is better than nobody.
--
Heavily influenced by the songwriting/lyricism of Conor Oberst.
About once a year, I can actually write a rhyming poem without throwing aside the paper in disgust and frustration after four lines. It's a pretty momentous occasion.
This is also very likely the only rhyming poem I've ever written that is completely personal and truthful. Except for the part about the friend. I made that up.