whoa oh, I want some more.

my heart swells in so many places it hurts to breathe sometimes

but I remember in certain sweaters I look the best and all is well in a land of snow.

I didn't get what I wanted, and it's fine, oh it's fine.

maybe some other time.

story morning glory.

"Don't go chasing dreams, kid," he said to me, as my skin stuck to his leather seats.

When all the smart kids moved north for the winter, all the cokeheads stayed in Hollywood. It was a good night, I guess. I wore the same jeans over and over again, rough against my skin, and I fell into quarter beats as the men on city streets asked me pointless questions.

And will you ever grow old? I don't know.

And will you ride headlong into the desert sky? I don't know.

And will you ever tell us his name, the one you write about in every song? That's no for sure.

It all rested in ragtag blues. They stitched wings into breakable girls as women trailed me like clockwork. Tick, tock, they all fell in love but no one really meant it. It was all for that last bit of white before lights out.

"But they look so good on me," I said to him, as his glance gave me the up-down in my peripherals.

Silver was my favorite non-color to wear. It made me look more serious than the articles painted -- this painted woman-child with bangles for common sense. I giggled and denied marriage, noting tasteful shoes and dismissing showboats in polyester. I was silver like the moon, a supporting hue in the cast of purist to wise. And he was merely charcoal grey, almost there but never quite good enough.

Different women want to be me but few can compare.

Different men want to be me but few can compare.

I am neither, I am both, but who is there to compare?

Present past spoken in future tense, but what else do I know if I'm not drunk with some sort of expensive alcohol someone else bought me? I asked myself these convoluted questions night after night, longing for the chafe of stubble on my cheeks and met with silky smooth aftershave from the baby boys who ran around in big tough guy clothes. Yeah, real tough guy now.

"Suspicion got me this scar," you said, pointing at your jaw, the place that made me ache something awful, for that mouth of yours between my legs doing something, for fuck's sake.

We drove along and alone, the throb of want everlasting as you dragged out my torture with seeming bliss, just with a turn and a smile every once in a while.  and even when desert became ice, when texas became rome, when all the words melted in my pocket with the accuracy of throwing darts, I knew somehow this would be the only time in my life that I would be truly happy.  

something more.

three years and I'm back to where I was

terminal port and sloppy sustenance

who ever knew my fingers would glide against worn keys

it's been so long since I've been myself.

it shows, and it shows, and it shows

isn't it funny how I waste my time searching for something more?

and rediscovering my older tricks haven't worked and there's no cure

trying so hard to bypass time, ignoring the fact that I must die

maybe there's nothing left for me to find

unfocused.

we're in this place now, where i can't compartmentalize in the way that i used to.
you were the unrequited duo, one spelling out her longings while the other made cryptic allusions.  and i bought it.  we all buy it, you know, or at least i hope the both of you know.  i don't know if i ever will.  
now she wants people and specific people and forgive me my dear i'm sure you'll understand but that's really really difficult for me to wrap my head around.  am i coming in clear?

and it's not selfishness.  after her, i can't like another girl again.  it hurts too fucking much.  it's just bizarre.  give me time, i guess.  just time enough to think it over.  i cried that night for the letting go of everything i'd been holding onto.  it was great.  but now i'm stuck in the ether and what the fuck is it going to bring?  i don't know and that terrifies me.