Wading In Caramel
2 December 2011
You could smell the ice in the air these last few days
Even though this is Tampa Bay we do get cold fronts
It was like I had a craving for the old ways that I could not shake
But I would have had to trust another shape to name me
Like, "Welcome back to the snow!" "You're still so small!" "So no one here has to think about you getting old!"
"And you're still a shit head for thinking like that. I got to go."
I'm somehow required to be close to something I perpetuated but never was
I can't live up to my own legend anymore and I don't want to
Take back the glory, tear down the statue you built inside your brains
Stop telling stories about me like you know anything
I'm not Rocky, I didn't win the gold chain
After three rounds I was out cold laid
In their eyes I was perfect,
But in my mind I wore a mask and gloves
I don't have stars on my skin or stripes or spots or fame
But I wear glasses and slashes and cuts and big stains
When I laugh it doesn't linger because I know what's good won't last
Life is disappointing, transient, dissolvable
Like rain moments evaporate
A sugar syrup that can seize up
If the stalks were solid, they'd stay that way
But now they're lowly granules in someone's cake
Life does not ask
It demands attention and consideration
Why are we so dirty?
Why do I feel like I'm wading in caramel?
I'm so sticky, get this shit off me!
An unfettered life without ego, the fucker will ask again
Can I have it?
Do you need it?
Do you want some?
Why can't I please?
Sex might work better than misery
Shit makes me restless, wishing for my child hood
As if by some magic trick I could take it back and make it better
I'm from Western NY and I was born with a small town ideology
I feel corrupted and lazy
Is this what happens when you move from the country to the city?
Do you become a memory of who you used to be?
A convertible version in mint condition
Is this thing a hard or soft top?
Can I come inside or is the door locked?
I want to be a soul inside a body that isn't so much like me
I'm sour curd instead of milk and honey
In the land of promise for everyone but me
I've stopped comparing circumstances or complaining
Really, what's the point?
I can't figure out how to use it
So now it bores me
Yeah, yeah, flat screen TV!
Yeah, yeah, the hybrid-SUV!
All this music!
The hum and chattering!
Hyper-aware of everything around me to the point of fear and paranoia
These thoughts run my head and I can feel the last 2 healthy cells gasp for breath
Living on the fringes in debt and yet society owes me negative nothing
My eyes itch, my brain hurts from flexing under the weight of my skull cap
These images are pin pricks along my skin
The blood has darkened and become coagulant
A burnt orange crust-like regret has formed on my elbows
The pain instilled, I keep moving without looking
And this soul is killing me because it wants things it cannot have
Objects, feelings, lovers that are beyond my grasp
I did not get up to sketch it out or write it down
But tried to sleep instead without success
When I dream lately it's about my brother in the roll of me
Walking around the streets of Ybor with a sketchpad in his hand
His modified paint brushes hanging out his back pockets
It's so like him to redesign something so basic
Now I know where my foam went and why there's horse hair in my trash can
I smile momentarily before I let it fade
The truth is that's not him but I guess I could see him making it work
Instead of fucking it up like me
Always so close but still so lame
With three quarters jingling in my capri's
I head home in the dark back to reality
I put the change on his stand and say, "It's not much, but it's something."
He nods as I walk away
I shove my revisited campaign for sanity, my crutches into the familiar tight space between my bedroom door and the race
I don't know if anyone ever wins but we're both exhausted and apparently untrained
But I'm not unfazed and I still hate it all the same
2 December 2011
You could smell the ice in the air these last few days
Even though this is Tampa Bay we do get cold fronts
It was like I had a craving for the old ways that I could not shake
But I would have had to trust another shape to name me
Like, "Welcome back to the snow!" "You're still so small!" "So no one here has to think about you getting old!"
"And you're still a shit head for thinking like that. I got to go."
I'm somehow required to be close to something I perpetuated but never was
I can't live up to my own legend anymore and I don't want to
Take back the glory, tear down the statue you built inside your brains
Stop telling stories about me like you know anything
I'm not Rocky, I didn't win the gold chain
After three rounds I was out cold laid
In their eyes I was perfect,
But in my mind I wore a mask and gloves
I don't have stars on my skin or stripes or spots or fame
But I wear glasses and slashes and cuts and big stains
When I laugh it doesn't linger because I know what's good won't last
Life is disappointing, transient, dissolvable
Like rain moments evaporate
A sugar syrup that can seize up
If the stalks were solid, they'd stay that way
But now they're lowly granules in someone's cake
Life does not ask
It demands attention and consideration
Why are we so dirty?
Why do I feel like I'm wading in caramel?
I'm so sticky, get this shit off me!
An unfettered life without ego, the fucker will ask again
Can I have it?
Do you need it?
Do you want some?
Why can't I please?
Sex might work better than misery
Shit makes me restless, wishing for my child hood
As if by some magic trick I could take it back and make it better
I'm from Western NY and I was born with a small town ideology
I feel corrupted and lazy
Is this what happens when you move from the country to the city?
Do you become a memory of who you used to be?
A convertible version in mint condition
Is this thing a hard or soft top?
Can I come inside or is the door locked?
I want to be a soul inside a body that isn't so much like me
I'm sour curd instead of milk and honey
In the land of promise for everyone but me
I've stopped comparing circumstances or complaining
Really, what's the point?
I can't figure out how to use it
So now it bores me
Yeah, yeah, flat screen TV!
Yeah, yeah, the hybrid-SUV!
All this music!
The hum and chattering!
Hyper-aware of everything around me to the point of fear and paranoia
These thoughts run my head and I can feel the last 2 healthy cells gasp for breath
Living on the fringes in debt and yet society owes me negative nothing
My eyes itch, my brain hurts from flexing under the weight of my skull cap
These images are pin pricks along my skin
The blood has darkened and become coagulant
A burnt orange crust-like regret has formed on my elbows
The pain instilled, I keep moving without looking
And this soul is killing me because it wants things it cannot have
Objects, feelings, lovers that are beyond my grasp
I did not get up to sketch it out or write it down
But tried to sleep instead without success
When I dream lately it's about my brother in the roll of me
Walking around the streets of Ybor with a sketchpad in his hand
His modified paint brushes hanging out his back pockets
It's so like him to redesign something so basic
Now I know where my foam went and why there's horse hair in my trash can
I smile momentarily before I let it fade
The truth is that's not him but I guess I could see him making it work
Instead of fucking it up like me
Always so close but still so lame
With three quarters jingling in my capri's
I head home in the dark back to reality
I put the change on his stand and say, "It's not much, but it's something."
He nods as I walk away
I shove my revisited campaign for sanity, my crutches into the familiar tight space between my bedroom door and the race
I don't know if anyone ever wins but we're both exhausted and apparently untrained
But I'm not unfazed and I still hate it all the same
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