[symetrik]

Same Old Story

(I may come off as a bit stand-offish.)
On most days, my run-down Chevy wouldn't start.
Fuck, on most days I couldn't say where I had parked.
I needed a new car, yet I owned art that I honestly despised.
You could say that I have dabbled in the subtleness of wearing guise.

(I'm clean now, but lord knows… I've had problems.)
Every sun rise was the worst kind of stepping stone.
I knew, at night's end, that I'd be schlepping home.
If not a barrel of wine, then the burden inside.
Just a blessing to be resting off my apathetic bones.

(She's the type of skirt that makes a man honest.)
Her tepid moans improved it.
She thought our lack of intercourse implied that I'm abusive,
I was fluent in hypocrisy, I practiced every night.
I tattled on my body-doubles when they fled a murder scene with dampened knives.

(But good things rarely ever last. Promise.)
A simple metaphor for having strangers in my bed, she bored me with her prattle.
I did not deserve forgiveness, yet she looked at me and said: "Now I know, and knowing's half the battle."