My words come out as hollow as a heartache.
Rock swallowers like me have gravel pits in their stomachs
and it looks like something I saw in the backwoods once.
It’s an uncommon practice to acknowledge
your breaking point in this day and age,
but I stand defiantly in favor of feeling the fractures.
Some beings burrow, other beings fly,
but this life of pain was made for you and I.
Today I retraced our footprints with a bottle of bleach
and attempted to tidy up all of our past indiscretions.
Every move felt familiar and tasted foreign.
I am just alive enough to move my mouth
and scrub something that will never come clean.
And I miss you
Eager Maniacs
You can paint me up to be the bad man with a back hand,
but please understand that this is not a master plan.
I’ve been playing Macgyver since this bastard’s tale began,
and I don’t see things changing soon: So sink or swim in sand.
Prick me on my heart with your rose stem, see if I pass the test.
I might bleed and I might not, but either way it’s just my best.
So we can smash it into the ashes of something that was once cute.
but drinking will not stop the rain, it’ll only make us both puke.
What does the use of drugs got to do with happiness?
God’s blissful kiss on scarred up wrists, I wanna know what have we missed?
I’m touching crimson lips that never existed in the first place,
but I knew I was addicted at the first taste, tongue’s interlaced.
Match my pace and bust my cherry, tell me we’ve eloped,
but that pain you carry makes my hope remote like a ghost.
Use a coat to warm your moat, and quote the words I’ve wrote
to form a homicide note, I’ll be cleaning my throat out with a bar of soap.
So here we were, there I am clutching a PBR can in my hand,
and I wanna know am I a man?
Or a boy, a tawdry trinket, I tip the can back and I drink.
I’d love to tell the truth dear, but honestly I seldom think it.
So here we were, there I am. Water, yeast, barley, and hops in a can.
So here we were, there I am; Did I ever really even really hold your hand.
Are we talking? Are we fighting? Is it over? This is frightening.
Are we talking? Are we fighting? Is it over? This is frightening.
Are we talking? Are we fighting? Is it over? This is frightening,
Are we talking? Are we fighting? Is it over?
But did we ever really come clean? I know that things got messy.
When we were at our best the glass seemed to be far from empty,
but after a few sips i think your lips got wet and your brains got numb.
So now I’m acting like a dumb ass again, trying to get me some!
Come on baby, clean the rust off your heart and I can make you blush.
Maybe this bed just wasn’t big enough for both of us?
Am I really that hard to trust? This conversation is intoxicating
or frustrating. Are you listening or am I masturbating my tongue?
Eating my time, you’re wasting the young parts of my mind.
When I climb behind you life is just a theme park ride,
but then that feeling fades when the endorphins wash back out to sea.
You’re acting lovely, sayin’ you love me, loneliness paints the fallacy.
So don’t get mad at me, because the lies belong to you.
Are you out there? Can you hear me? Can I call you little girl blue?
Here we were, there I am clutching a PBR can in my hand,
and I wanna know am I a man?
Or a boy, a tawdry trinket, I tip the can back and I drink.
I’d love to tell the truth dear, but honestly I seldom think it.
Am I the first man who walked on the surface of your moon?
Or am I just some dude who put you in the mood?
I felt the room move the minute you uncrossed your legs,
and then the peeling ceiling fell down and it hit me in my head.
Now either I’m dead or that blue sky is falling.
Girl, the way you looked at me was just so appalling.
And I may be stalling, but I’m running on your fumes,
so where does that leave you?
I recently met a cavalcade
of my own wants and wishes
just before they careened
into the unknown.
Tumbling and twisting like dolls in a dryer,
framed by an all encompassing nothing.
I smiled at first,
but after a few minutes
I felt pretty bummed out.
It’s not about fault,
it’s about responsibility for ones actions.
To take responsibility for your actions
is an honest way to say yes to change.
It takes time to realize that tomorrow
can be your best friend.
Some never escape the fault lines.
I’m surrounded by people who never wake up.
I read and write alone at both dusk and dawn,
and it seems to work out alright,
but sometimes I want someone here
to share the thoughts and coffee with.
Maybe it’s better this way, but probably not.
My brain is still showing my heart the ropes.
Stubborn pride mixes with my inner child’s
innate insecurity to form a kind of confidence
that is seldom seen these days.
Someday I hope to look into the mirror
and see what you see, a sincere magician.
I have been trying to turn over a minimum
of ten new leaves per day for some time now.
Some days are better that others,
and when I look out of the window it’s still snowing.
I watched her
walk in on her
stilt-like legs
with an effortless
whimsy.
I opened my
scars like a book
and everyone
stumbled onward
with an indifferent
swagger.
I grabbed two
Christ cold beers
and told myself
some more lies.
I drank two
Christ cold beers
and laid in bed
telling myself
some more lies.
I’ve been trying to clean my dresser drawers
but I just sit around getting drunk and high
while listening to my Descendents records.
I keep getting lost inside of these
new nights of long lonely walks and short non talks.
Toxic people are pinning my eyelids open
and telling me to watch my future fall apart at half speed.
Now I just flail endlessly in my unbreakable silence.
I am crushing my frowns down into nothingness
in hopes that you’ll keep me nailed down dead.
Some hearts don’t unbreak.
This world is a lonely place.
The words that we use to chase what we can’t have
are building up the dirge that I’m fixating on
and it’s becoming deafening.
We’ve defined and redefined
our morality into nonexistence.
The words that you used to chase me into what I can’t have
are blinding my brain in all of the spots that aren’t broken
and it’s almost as bright as death.
About Twat the Bard