In And Over Losing Ourselves

My soul is the bottle dripping, succumber liquid gaining temper’ture
Can’t find no obvious holes nowhere; no breaks, no sights of fissure,
And in its featurelessness and failure, its efficiency raised tenfold before
But I have no use now for broken things rotting and ruining my kitchen table

Should it join the bag, all black and dirty? Tell if you, too, should you find tape
Maybe it’s not too late yet, for my sanity’s sake, I hope it’s not too late

My turf, my rules, my killing
I’m a describable indistinguishable dark soul, only desperate for the more desperate
To dominate and forclose, giving nothing but I still want the world, anyway
I don’t even know why I’m attracted to your commonplace beauty because you’re better looking, always, just in my memory, and anyday

Listening to your voice while brisking ’round the town silent, and desolate
I smear the cherry lipbalm on my lips, the one we both wore together when we kissed
Wishing I never deleted your calls and never twisted your texts
I know my hugs and touch and tongue overflow with melancholy, tinged and we liked our dismay

And so to we admit we break ourselves a thousand times being next to next
And not being next to next, our most evasive bargaining stage

You probably won’t even remember my name, and that’s okay, that’s okay
I probably ‘member you a little different, but that’s on me as it always have been for me, and that’s okay
And all my being sensitive and being rightfully extra, for I’m a sucker for stoney love stories, anyway
Always enjoy getting broken, getting beaten with stories ending in the abrupt since life’s chaotic, anyway

That’s the thing: shit only matters if you the one hurting, but never when it’s me

I like my men lonely, homely as I am; body rockin’ and mind degrading,
Nega to a fault and ready to bolt, but not when I’m wishing for them
Because the world has taken all my hope for it
And, unless you can see it the way I do, then, there’s no chance of understanding

What we are both going through, perhaps heaven, perhaps hell

And I ask for time, ask for time, ask for time,
Like I’m some sort of codependent rockstar, dying by the slights of the side of the road
Ride or die, baby– just call me if you’re lonesome
Call me if you have what’s mine so we can both fake laugh and chime

At our sonnets, and the world, so dull, the work we promise we’ll leave behind

I know we’re both strong people
Birthday upon birthday upon birthdays in fire signs,
This is why our home is burning most of the weekdays,
And in the weekends we spend in

Recline and decline

Give me all them links and give me all them torrents
I want to stay home tonight and smear myself with so much beer and cigarettes that my eyes glaze the world rightfully disappearing