Deep in the end of seas,
they say there's more than women,
the gravity of all them,
will make it way more than a womans
worth in gold

Deep in, the sea
the gravity you pull on me,
deep in the sea
deep in the sea
where every want turns into need
deep in the sea

Seesaws and silverwear,
before silver turned tarnished
fuseless colorless flares;
responding on instinct
responding on instinct
tarnished and torn,
before
we were ever warned
the land was diseased


Deep in, the sea
the gravity you pull on me,
deep in the sea
deep in the sea
where every want turns into need
deep in the sea

well i sorta got to thinking
and thinking got to wishing
i got wish myself to bringing
sad luck up to a charm
and no one here was willing to go,
brought myself to chicago

down down down
arlington hostel
the parisian apostle
pushing the pedals to me
cause i was sad and incomplete
the aussie kids are buying me rounds ou-ounds

can i kiss your hand
how about your cheek
my german is a little off,
and she doesn't understand,
she doesn't understand me
in love with every girl that i see

the bus didn't bring
and the drunks didn't wish me.
very well--
i've been thinking
i'm never gonna find myself.

My eyes
My eyes
I close my eyes
Shift the blur
And fantasize
This poor girl
Is not my type,
Instead she’s someone else
The kind where I’m
Not worth her time
Where she would never fantasize
That I am on the other line
Of the least romanticized
Of ways to waste of time------------------------------
This bed this room
It hurts my chest
Throwing fits hold my breath
While she’s twisting my neck
This house is dimly lit sometimes
I wish this 409
Were a bottle of Bacardi lime
To put a shock back in the light------------
And its making me ill,
To the root
That love and will
All add up to the truth
I’m not telling you either,
I’m telling you simply,
I wish I wouldn’t bother
And my heart is in the swollen place,
From falling down a spiral case,
A direct case of counting days,
Before I found some grace.
I love the taste
And I can’t chase
Anything to erase
What lingers on my lips
After the days fade away

he sees a she
look wonderfully
who believes in "we"
you over me;

one who can compete
and defeat
the monster who raised
and cradled a baby
abandoned with a rattle,
managed just to straddle
on a heap of maybes
The turning pike,
Turnpike's bluest bars
where people paddled
never dive--
stupid never wise;

all they say is
never ever mind;
he's in back of your mind;
I'm not even a glimpse,
i'm nothing you think, about
not a who,
not a why,
oh why.

I'm thinking of a child hood
the one that was never too useful,
misplaced kisses on my first,
not the one I would've prefered

the after taste of a memory
whispers to me,
remember me?
i loved the chase I hate pretending
things are better left
when they're unsaid
like you instead

would you ever wanna try again
take me to the motel we broke down
we could fix the walls and make it a house
its just a cloud; that stands there now
its just a bed,
its just a scent.

chewing on the meat
and on the fruits,
of neat alternatives to solitude
numericals and poli-science stole our youth,
and I remember parking lots,
smoking with chris before
a lot took his life,
but god he would like
to live again in days where I was so high,
that you didn't mind---

I'm still attracted to the life-style of self-harm, and self-destruction. I watch my friends destroy their lives, and it's not that I get off from it-- its the secret sort of pain I know they feel; the intimacy and silent prayers they speak with god when they feel the fear that their hearts might give way, or that they're going to be working delis and dead end jobs forever.

It's the envy in my gut, when I see the tall, red haired one pretending to be a famous poet-- speaking rhymes he wrote years before he lost his mind, knowing he'll fuck a prostitute and they'll live off of each other's sicknesses. I wish I'd be as sick as he, to have her, to cradle to health, or out of health, and lose my own. And instead I have this cough, and this pain in my head, behind my ear-- that I've completely given up all acknowledgement of, except on paper.

Or the cheating-- they can eat mushrooms and blame it on the beer, and wake up with a new girl-- pass her around, and the consequences are a slap on the back of the hand. My atonements are dreams that spin like webs that weave uncontrollably to the arythmia of my heartbeat. And dare I become unfunctionable, my credibility is in question-- if a simple task is functioned correctly, they're praised.

So, this raises the question, and in their stash under their noses, between their shaking, hyperventilating chests I found a pulse, and a pen. Where is the muckraker?

Waiting, patiently, to change society.

he said one thing
something, or nothing
i thought poetic of him
to piss on the bible
not the great book of hymns;

a modern day marty
relates more to more of some
artist than lyricist
until the accountant and clerical
discredit him in theoriticals.