This world was made for skeleton people
Cause muscles melt and flesh doesn’t keep well.
Kisses are toothy anyways, all hair goes gray
Our cheeks cover our smiles; now we’d be smiling everyday.
Paper mache people just really don’t cut it
Their mouths are wide open screaming and helpless,
Our bones hold our marrow and we bath in bleach
It keeps us all shiny in our joints and our teeth.
If we are all bones with no skin and no hair,
We don’t have to feel cause our organs won’t care.
Let us crash through the night.
Let us waltz and howl in honor of the stars.
We’ll leap and fall in our drunken dance,
Collapsing onto the wet grass when
Our breath has surely left us.
When it returns, bring with it our mischief.
We shall proceed in a lure of banjo strings
And tambourines,
Clapping and strumming in our
Hemp hats and overalls, hands still
Dirty from the day,
But purified by the soapy night.
All smiles in a native trance,
Stomped in the rhythm of the trees and worms.
And we shall cling to our bourbon and whiskey,
Praying the sun has lost the battle,
So our spell shall not be broken.
What I really want is to forget
Erase my brain
Go insane
Lose all memory of what you have done
Even all the good stuff
So that I can restart and playback.
It will be kind of like I never met you.
Forget about falling asleep in your arms
For the very first time, my contours perfectly into yours
Waking up but feigning slumber just to feel you smiling at me.
I already forget what it’s like to be loved by you,
To not feel threatened by your confidence,
To feel safe and unjudged in your presence.
Now all I feel is your righteous indifference,
How okay you are while I
Dread going to bed because I know that all it means,
Is a nightmare in my conscious brain,
Screaming whirling ghouls in my head that don’t allow me to fall into sleep,
Even when dark circles surround my eyes
And my body is exhausted.
Like that pair of jeans you don’t wash for a month
And the indents of your knees remain protruding
Regardless of whether they hit your knees or not,
And that rip that started tiny and uninvited after you fell up the stairs
Loses one more thread everyday, but it gives them character;
Like a pair of denim story tellers
And you say to yourself
“hey, maybe I lost a little weight”
because they hang at your butt and
you gotta wear a belt them after the second week
even though you know they’re only stretched out,
and you don’t really care anyways
because you kinda like ‘em that way
despite all the grass stains and dirt.
