excuses sound like elevator doors

Jun.06.2009 1:44pmShare
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The hammock is sunlit and sturdy in it's understanding of nothing. I wish to be as such. My senses are assailed by two point two fragments I wish I could care to forget. Through the keyhole I hear whispers and promises of pictures. I can see everything clearly but there's no one to tell it to.

Trapped between caring and not wishing that dignity came with age. I don't know anything other than myself at this point, not caring to pull paraphernalia from patches of people. I wonder when everyone forgot honest and got game. I don't prefer to play but if you catch me on a good day I can make you dance. Repetition gets lazy with each move marked and measured from once before, just someone else.

Excuses sound like elevator doors, each one chiming in on after the next like droplets. I've been busy, I fell asleep, or nothing at all. Busy is just like all the rest and I don't have time to prostitute myself for friendship. Take all your candy back to the man and tell him I'm not interested.

Wrappers line the floor as we spiral somewhere new. It's the same old new faces and I'm feeling ill again. Life leaves you lemons and all you can do is live without fear. Car rides forgotten in absence of white leather and new sounds.

This disco is tired and rusty, spilt names resting on scabbed hearts. It would be nice if for once the connection was real, but lit screens offer only but so much more than body heat.

I just want to forget what love is and dance away the scent of hormones. I want to be alone among thousands and loved for it. I want to know your name but never tell a lie.