i go about things the wrong way?
i am human,
and i need to be loved-
*
it takes a hella long time to find enough smashed glass,
cracked-up crockery, and pottery shards
to fill up the empty space inside of a heart.
it looks patchworked, piecemeal, shattered,
and let's not refrain from noting,
no matter how smootherized by abrasive flow the edges get,
it's still broken glass,
and that has it's own set of timeworn 'with-care' handling rules.
rocks and refuse and refugee recycling attempts,
coupled together to crudely craft a carefully collected
riverwater and firewater valentine-type love-note,
written in tetanus and microbacterial sepsis
and the shipwrecked remains
of prior engagements and previously alleviated good times,
filled with the drowned flotsam of drowned sorrows,
in the middle of nowhere,
and to no one in particular.
without the photograph,
it never happened, y'know?
and even that only exists in a robobotronic digital ether.
awwwwww.
so,
if the symbol gets washed away before tomorrow,
in tonight's swollen currents and rainy rising water levels,
what's the symbolism of that?
it never happened?
it never mattered?
it gets washed out to sea,
fragmented and forgotten about,
under the salty tiers of an ocean of salt tears.
dark?
a little.
-
so you go and you stand on your own,
and you leave on your own,
and you go home, and you cry,
and you want to die.
-
and that's not too far off, really.
metaphors, neighbors.
i like 'em a lot.
sitting on a shoal.
sitting apart from any signs of people,
in the middle of a river,
making transitory monuments to broken hearts
and hopeless romanticism.
and that's almost exclusively for your benefit, kids.
yuuuuup
-
see,
i've already waited too long,
and all my hope is gone.
-
today is the day,
and it's all really happening.
how soon is now?
never quiet, never soft.....
...yeah.
so i'm trying new things.
go easy.
inspirationally derivative, you say?
no sh!t.
but if you can't hang out with morrissey,
you're probably an A*hole.
just sayin'.
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