March 2, 2010

  • they'll be the king of hearts, and you're the queen of spades
    then we'll fight for you like we were your soldiers



    do you think i'm special?
    do you think i'm nice?
    am i bright enough to shine in your spaces?

    i want to fall in love with you, i want your face and your skin and your lips on mine sucking the life from my lungs.  i want to shudder and writhe and burn for something.

    i miss your sweet your scorn your soul, and every single bit in between.  i'm going to build a shrine, a memorial to the memory of you, studded with empty tubes of pink lemonade lipgloss and empty wine bottles.  i'll build it on the footbridge, the overpass, the trainyard and the quarry, stack it high with long marred mixed tapes and scraps of hopeless paper lined with hopeless dreams.  i'll lure boys there, kiss them hard, perform rituals and sacrifices to an imagined memory, you goat god manchild boy of greatness.

    i am in the kind of mood where i put on music and dance around like i'm on some kind of mid sixties acid trip.

    we are not what you think we are
    we are golden, we are golden