Rhythm of My Hands

I have a gift for
Introspection,
Explanation,
Procrastination.
I hold my pen close to my lips
Like a cigarette on fire.
Ink is my narcotic,
The cinders burning up the page
Burning, words are burning,
Like oil and cheap perfume.

Sex, drugs, and rock n' roll -
Just one more thing to write about.
Betrayal, lies, self-mutilation -
Just one more thing to write about.

I play my music
In my ears,
Hands in the air,
Without a care.
My confidence doesn't come from you.
I fall short of my own expectations,
Staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.
You're playing russian roulette up against
My beating breast, love.

Sex, drugs, and rock n' roll -
Just one more thing to write about.
Betrayal, lies, self-mutilation -
Just one more thing to write about.

You can't break me,
Can't you see?
I'm still me,
Now suddenly -
You see I've been perfecting this
Poker face for years.
I swing my hips to my own drum,
Push your gun away from me,
And if you shoot, I'll just keep dancing
As I fall – fall -

Sex, drugs, and rock n' roll -
Just one more thing to write about.
Betrayal, lies, self-mutilation -
Just one more thing to write about.