I do not trust the spirit
The half-empty kids weigh down the hall,
they try to quiet their shoes to listen for
the bad news, and the whispered wars;
To know if they can be half-full.
And the honest-eyed boy in the parking lot,
sold the speaker his soul, it's all he's got;
in hopes that he'll get his shot
with his voice and the six strings he bought.
Now allow me, to reminisce
and lie about it, more or less:
She said she's no better dead,
though she appreciates the roses.
She's barely aware of the heart in her head,
this is hardly the heart that she's chosen.
But she looks terribly well on the wall,
next to Poe, Plath, Lovecraft and all;
Prithee, please forget
any semblance of normalness
chalk it up to coincidence.
The no-nonsense girl on the plastic bench
found her future in a cookie for ninety cents.
She lives her life on a paper slip
that smells of soy and decadence.
While the only thing on TV
is collected dust and make-believe.
So much lust, so little screen
In space, no one can hear you dream....
Now allow me to reminisce,
and lie about it, more or less:
She said she's no better dead,
though she appreciates the roses.
She's barely aware of the heart in her head,
this is hardly the heart that she's chosen.
But she looks terribly well on the wall,
next to Poe, Plath, Lovecraft and all;
Prithee, please forget
any semblance of normalness
chalk it up to coincidence.
She said she's no better dead,
though she appreciates the roses.
She's barely aware of the heart in her head,
this is hardly the heart that she's chosen.
They're doing terribly well when they live,
but well is awfully relative.
We're ambulance hitchhiking across the lane,
feeling out the lines on which our bones should break.
We've a list of our favorite aches,
you say you only need to live 'til yesterday.
Now you're made-up in your Sunday best:
Dramamine and loneliness;
and I look at the breadth of ICU West.
You take a chance, I take a breath.
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