9 - veterans' day

"so next time it's three a.m. and just on a whim you want to skate or drink or swim in the soft pink light of the dim and fading memories we once shared, give me a call, let me know you care." he waited for six weeks, got no availability. by now it was the end of december. he's afraid of this week. god knows he hates his misery. by now it was the end of his temper. "one of these days" he lies to himself, "someone will put me back on the shelf." nine months on and it's gone to his health. he stares at the moon and closes his eyes. it might be too soon but he knows his sighs. he's sick of the climb. three ticks and it's time. his life flies past in a flash. "so here's a picture of me for next morning's papers. you can stick it between the sex and mourning fakers." 'cause by this point he's out of joint and he's got no missed calls and hardly any mixed messages. no one noticed all his party envy. it's a mess and it's more than he can take. he's fading fast and breathing shallow. more than he can fake. stuck in the past, and he's too callow; just not meant for the rough and tumble. he found a nice cozy bathtub and filled it up warm. he'd always trip on cuts and stumble. it's time he made something useful out of himself. a war always ends in peace. it's best that a life should end in death. he's done with the games and the being left out. a tug at the blade, a look upwards. about the light, the only one still lit, he paused, exhaled, and said, "kill it."

8 - why me? (supersoak that hoe!!!)

love is just the preamble to heartbreak, and life is just delaying the inevitable. some things must be free, and those who start late can't slide in, but we say it's destiny. it's all bull. so here's a picture for next morning's papers, a mixture of death and warning vapours, i wash my hands of this affair. i'm sick and tired of being self-aware. so spit, spit, spit, 'cause this is it. spit, spit, spit. i'm sick of this skit. so snick, snick, snick, and steal a kiss. spit, spit, spit. i'm sick of this shit. there's a gooseneck hole in my heart. it's where you sit, cold, in my art. there's a loose-part hole in my neck. it's where you start calling my act and my bluff and my love all ridiculous. i'll rip it up. this has gone on for far too long. it's gone. i'm left and you're wrong. right around this time last year, we were duo-eschewing holiday cheer. next year, right around this time, you'll have a winter free of my stupid rhymes. last year, right around this time, i was starting to think that you could be mine. right around this time next year, you'll have to walk alone, 'cause i won't be here. so slit, slit, slit, and kill a kiss. snick, snick, snick. i'm sick of this shit. spit, spit, spit, 'cause this is it. slit, slit, slit. i'm sick of this shit.

7 - "into the air like a yellow balloon."

street stays shy, but the cold air hits like a reminder. these days i don't even know where the fuck to find her. kiss kiss, bang bang. drop dead. drop dead. it's missing, gang. drop dead. drop dead. at the very least drop anger. no? caught up in rooftop anchors? it's your loss. it's your cost. it's your debt. he's heard it all before. i'll be more direct. "hi, kids: it goes like this." kiss this gang bang. drop dead. drop dead. hit it and ran. drop dead. drop dead. but today i'm making motion to sail. i'm going to leave this one-man island behind. so gone are the days of hoping you'd fail and knowing you'd be the one that i let see my insides. it's high time we fly; it's high tide. so let's let go and bellow so that they know a yellow sun is rising. in a few minutes it'll be high noon. i'm done despising. gonna close my eyes, inhale. it's my due time.

6 - flesh

he thinks he's god in the flesh. she drinks these gauze-in-defence lies that he spits. he's just a chickenshit. he's just dreaming of her leaving. strip tease. she sings about being. he can never grab ahold of months. they always pass too fast. she can never only hold him once. days always have to amass in the end so they pretend no amount of time means anything. he's out of rhymes. she's everything but pretend. she'll leave eventually. it's last call, and that's all. he's just dreaming of her leaving. strip these feelings of all meaning. soon as she's got in his flesh, she's gone in a flash, and that's all. that's all.

5 - semper fugitive

i said, "kill the lights," he said, "hit the switch." i said, "thrill delights," he said, "hit this bitch upside her face." it's such a disgrace. but i did it anyway. and i didn't even say, "hit the lights." and he didn't even say, "kill the switch." instead, i said, "time, it flies." and he said, "kill this witch." and i did. i ruined it. upon waking i made a vow. keep on taking, i'll make it out. i'll be on the run forever. it doesn't bother me. my heart is only as head-strong as the rest of my body.

4 - misty

spending these winter nights with this miss-splintered sight, i blink my eyes, and i drink my cries. guess cold and sadness are just in vogue. all the memories that lust invokes. i cough and swear, and my lungs are bare. two months and forever. he's stumped and i'm severed. funny how things work out—i was the vain one and he was the wildlife. hum it, or sing about another pain: when am i gonna smile like the way i used to just last year, when i was fucking honest? these days i guess you must not hear when i alone will call you on it. spending these winter nights with this miss-splintered sight, i spit and tear at this heart i bear. two months and forever. he's stumped and i'm severed. funny how things work out—i was the vain one and he was the wildlife. hum it, or sing about another pain: when am i gonna smile like the way i used to just last year, when i wasn't so haunted? these days i guess you must not hear that i am all you fucking wanted.

3 - rip movie nights/dead poet's sobriety

she keeps trying to smile harder, but he's every time a firestarter, feeling more and more like a tired martyr. he's angry for no fucking reason but even though she's always in season, well, he just can't keep his heart from seizing up. he works so much for so little to no touch. he's so brittle. she keeps her attire formal and smarter than the next girl. he sleeps while on fire, normal, and heart-burns when the sex works its way right out of such a bright picture. makes him wonder why he goes on every night hanging at the light fixture waiting for her slightest come-ons. he's a 'no-downers, no-uppers' case who never uses capitals. she can't slow down her 'so-outer-space' blues, and her youth is passing slow. she's wasting it on him. minute by minute by minute. she's wasting her life with him. the days go by and he's still in it. he flushes. "so, what do you, with armour, uh, plan on doing now?" she doesn't know what to rue. the camera pans. she's climbing out.