the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

When Mama Thinks You're A Murderer

On atlases, there are lines
On maps, there are crosses
But heading south towards the mouth of the gulf,
The border gets fuzzy
And blends into the horizon,
So I open the glove compartment to put all my lies in.

Indifference is a silent coward
And it devours the soul
Until the point where you don't know what's thinking
And you're blinking your yes's and no's
Just to make this go a bit slower.
But that road is too far and out of sight
And looking back on the unfolding of the night,
There were highways in its creases that we never did know.

I am a parasite,
Sucking the light from your sweet summer glow
From the veins in your body that provide luscious flow.
I clear the shelves with my words
And sprawl it out across the room,
I lay you out nice and neat
And all the while I still assume
There is nothing but wadding crumpled up in this shell
But this wadding may be my punched ticket to hell.

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