Sometimes i don't know where i'm heading

but i've got my foot on the gas anyway.

Tuesday, early.

There’s always something eating at my bones, the locks been picked and someones come home.

Someone you used to know.

Take leaf out off someone you used to be, treat her like shit and return to your old body, because if anything you’re only coming clean, you’re not what she wants, she’s not what you need.

Roll over into empty sheets, there will finally be space for you to get a nights sleep, without the endless ache the edge of the bed makes.

But you’re fine with it, whats it matter, as long as she’s fine then its fine and you can just bottle your anger, deep down in a chamber that mourns it’s old laughter, if my spine can take it, then I’ll carry on like a soldier.

I wander if it’s selfish, but I’m tired of being selfless and giving all i have until im looking at her headless and wandering if she gives a shit.

You rise, because you can’t sleep, start pacing the room and grinding your teeth, you miss her but she always has to leave.

Throw on a bright eyes record and make sure the doors locked, lie on the couch and pretend that the worlds stopped and just try to forget you even exist.

Shooting rabbits from the arms of torn couches.

I've got a lot to live up to.
There's a lot of poisoned minds running these towns from office apartments,
out-a' state.
One summer the well dried, guns were made and history was written.
Lots of paper, but not enough ink.
Too many old men and not enough kids.
The local paper was a grave and my family was tied to the page.
Shooting rabbits from the arms of torn couches and then collapsing in the relief of blood.
I've got no recollection of past misfortune.
Stay out till dawn, when the sky cracks and the moon can walk free again.
Then walk home blurry eyed, stumbling through memories that are cold to touch.
Cold like the hands of your mother when she tucked you in, when the fields were full and the blankets warm.
Cold like the blade that brought the silence of your fathers tongue, as he had to leave, and told you to stay inside.
Cold like the carelessness that brought war into your streets;
And when the rain came, and washed away the city's blood, the well grew full like our stomachs;
And we lived. once again.

The circle of a raven.

I've got something i need to tell you.
It's like the breaking of an apple, it's the eyes of a dingo before it sets itself upon you. There's an arrow in my spine from the bow of a lover I gave too much of my time. I feel the infection setting in with each spore blown by the endless wind. I don't want this to weep.
Sometimes I forget that I'm still living, holding on so tightly to memories that seem so empty. Empty are the spaces behind your eyes, I've looked so deep and still you were nowhere to be found. The sparrow has come home again, now the roads been replaced with secrets of a garden. It's walking so awkwardly, stumbling over forgotten memories. I can tell it cant breathe easily. Some things need to be forgotten, like the time you threw eggs because your mother had told you they'd gone rotten. I've misplaced my desire to smile back and spin laughter.
But its spinning on without me, ravens circle up above me.
Eager for me to stumble, eager for me to fall.

None of this.

In the window of the house, where i grew,
I came to face to face with a boy i once knew.

I cannot make this puzzle fit.
Each tired word lacks simple wit.
The garbage blows silent, down the street.

The mail hasn't been for seven days.
The silence grows, but still i wait,
I'm addicted, and I've barley had a taste.


I've tasted her lips, I'm terminally ill.
The carousel is spinning and the flowers petals wilt.

I'm reading faces on the train,
I feel my loss has been their gain,
and every where i go, their focus waits.

The wind blows the dirt off concrete streets,
I just hum along and move my feet,
and know that none of this is worth remembering.



There's a story told, about a boy that grew,
who lost the only person that he thought he knew.

Each puzzle piece he slowly fit.
He learned to love his simple wit.
But the garbage still blows silent, down the street.

The wind blows the dirt off concrete streets,
I just hum along and move my feet,
and know that none of this is worth remembering.

Why do i always feel so alone.

So insecure.

I'm going to end up reclusive,
Washed up, Uncut and hiring movies.

4.26am

This tune brings back memories of a time better left forgotten. now I'm awake, mouth half open. wandering aimlessly in thoughts i gassed long ago with the feelings. park benches of wood rotting so aimlessly. holding your hand before roll call, and waiting until the next time i could again. and your cold dead face, keeps smiling from beneath where my eyelids shade.sunlight through bus windows, we'd walk where the wind blowed, and every morning I'd wake for you.
photos of old souls entangled in shadows with lips locked like we were, like lovers, like we were.
now i can't walk straight, the re-occurring dreams keep my eyes from the sleep i crave
and i mourn for a time, I'll never get back,
the ex-lover is dead and so is what we had.