There are enough fake potted plants, that uninvited guests will blow a gasket.
I might as well have a rotting corpse in my living room and show the casket.
I’m used to these conditions, I’m just exposing what I know from practice.
This place should be condemned, I literally hoard rows of bones and ashes,
And known attachments to let go of instead of letting you hold the baggage.
This poltergeist is my vice, old habits you can’t stow away in the frozen attic.
faded memories bathed in vulture feces to remind us of the burdens we hold,
From jaded victories, when you’re yourself your true colors are certain to glow.
being erased like closed curtains, the candlewick dying down’ burning my soul.
crying sound hurting my goal, “imperfect” stapled on everything worthless I own.
The neighbors eavesdrop as I iron my shirt in the mold, no courtesy shown,
They’re speed walking back to their perfect life, I’m carving murder she wrote…
On termite-infested walls, my blood boiling with evil, while I hope for a win.
You can’t just go for a spin when the highwaymen know where you live.
Are they foe or a friend? Either way, they would rejoice if you drove off a cliff,
You know right where you end up, even if your vision is blocked by the solar eclipse.
They called me an addict, but how can that be true because I “know when to quit”.
We share genetics passed down from our father, but what is soaked in my skin?
Breathing in asbestos while I choke to death, Still I sit in this filth; no regret.
There’s easy access to the fire pit downstairs, the cleanliness can pose a threat.
I hope I don’t forget our movie nights, there are not many of those moments left,
Were two homeless souls can coalesce, the only option when there's no one else,
To fulfill this crow’s nest; a slow death after you have been told to hold your breath,
Take a gander at what's grotesque, the bloodstains that remain on the sofa bed…
The half-naked man is covered in vomit, laying in the spot where the devil spawns.
Old memories are dead and gone, here I am wasting away, decaying; left to rot.
What I get for staying in a place I had to settle on, I hated saying I’m better off,
A hostage in this terror plot, no shield I just created a resentful mental block,
Reality helped me connect the dots so I forced you to listen to this long epilogue.
Hoping I don’t get it wrong, I’m haunted by gasoline cans; the smell of ethanol,
Fills the halls, the previous owners used. This house was doused in the ’80s…
I used that as an excuse for why my spouse hated me, what I found in the navy,
Is bound to drive me crazy, I vaguely remember you doubting your safety,
Looking for every nook and cranny, like an escape route so you get out safely,
You’re going through a river of emotion, and feel like you’re drowning lately,
Thinking about the mom that used to live here, the flames surrounding the baby.
I’m going through my own shit, so how can I help you through your breakdown.
If life was rosy-pink, that mom would still be with her son at the playground,
We pass it every day on the way home from work, I watched you space out…
I wanted to put a bullet in my brain, those thoughts hovered like a raincloud,
Especially when that song came on the radio, the one from james brown,
“I got you” it reminds me of those faded memories, pictures I should takedown.
Pictures of an old family, before the mom and dad couldn’t take it and grew apart.
Before the gruesome thoughts, before the cartoons the son drew were charred..
What if this happens to us? I have to make sure I catch every shooting star,
Make a wish before the melody, and capture your eyes when the music starts,
Your favorite track by the wonder years, as you try to prove who you are.
The lyrics remind me… that we all have a final bow, that’s our coup de grace.
I still remember her singing that stupid song…
Quote:
|
Originally Posted by the wonder years
Two blackbirds on a highway sign
Are laughing at me at four in the morning
They played the war drum out of time
So I'm not sure where I've been marching
I wanna be strong, but it's not easy anymore
I'm hoping I'm wrong
|
My biggest fear lives in here; I’ll always keep the door padlocked tight so no one enters.
What renders me a lonesome sinner, is the same thing that keeps this old blood thinner.
So much bitterness, close up that we broke up, she even brought the tow truck with her.
No love, twisted, a relationship so dark & evil that you can watch as the rosebud withers.
I always fall for the first she-devil that smiles at me, like it will help me grow up quicker,
When I literally just used “vulture feces” metaphorically to describe these cold cut dinners,
I guess I took it for granted.