i left home
went to my friends in the west
and oh my god
i can't decide what's best
for some reason
i hold a lot of truths
and one of them is
stuck on the ridge of my roof
in my mouth
but i don't have enough problems
to write a poem about just one thing
and i keep swinging my limbs
hoping that they'll put me somewhere
near you
so i could at least hear your voice
and maybe see you too
well we all went to the bar
and i was the only one still sober
everyone was elbow to elbow
shoulder to shoulder
we all know that i love my friends
the ones that care enough to let me know them
but i don't want to see you
not like that, not too often
i need to tell you something
it's just that i don't...
oh nevermind
i'm sinking like a boat
swallowed by a squid
the planks are snapping
being crushed just as i did

there are some things
i can't write poems about
like a train headed my way
straight down the tracks
like it was pissed off at the world
because of its greed
it creates an earthquake
yes, the ground is shaking
and my foot is caught between the boards
as if a child were holding on to my ankle
i could probably escape
if i wanted to
but i don't want to
i'm going to play along
and pretend that i'm helpless in their grip
i can hear the thunder getting louder now
and it's getting larger in size
the train screams at me to move
but i can only stare as my response
i'm frozen solid under the sun
my shadow's getting shorter
and my life is about to end
i hold my breath
in...
passing me now
the train blows its smoke in to my face
i feel its head brush against my arm
and my heart pounds
my eyes are watering
and i can almost grow wings
i thought i was going to die
but this is only a short lived dream

i finally have something to write about
but for once i don't know what to say
i could talk about you
or talk about myself, like i usually do
why break the pattern?
it has been working
so well
so far
i'm so selfish
i want to write about my friends
but i don't know them at all
i can only see the surface
that i might touch
but can never really feel
i think it's kind of sad
how i have to be sad
to write
if i had true talent
i could at any time
because when i'm happy
i am so happy
i love my friends
i love my girlfriend
and you know i cannot live without music
i cannot live without my ipod
you are so funny
and you make me laugh
it's all these conversations
that make me want to tell you
how i really feel
deep down inside
well maybe not so deep
i hate my skin
i am too thin
so when i am happy
i don't have the time
to waste with writing
i have to enjoy it while i can
but by now
you might notice most of these lines start with "i"
and this is what makes me feel bad
i am not part of something bigger
just self-centred
...
that last line
was a perfect line to end this poem
this "poem"
but for some reason
i am not stopping
i don't feel comfortable
with what i stand for
since i don't even know what it is
no, i don't drink
that's a value i have
possibly the only one
and i don't even feel that strong about it
it will not change anything
so i guess you can say
whatever you want about me
like, "this guy is an idiot
and it would make me happy if he would just shut up
i don't care about his values or whatever
this page of words looks more like a pile of junk"
i won't blame you
and today was a good day

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
i could go on forever
i'm not sorry for being vulgar
truth is i'm more like a vulture
than you actually think
i am sitting somewhere high
waiting for you to die
but i'm hungry now
fuck
i can feel myself getting weaker
and weaker
if i fall down
right back down to where you are
where i used to be
then i think i'll kill myself
and you can eat my body
i won't mind
rest your mouth on my neck
on my chest and stomach
bite down and enjoy
if only i weren't dead already
fuck
how long have i been this way?
the clocks won't tell me exactly
i think i'd have to ask a calander
or maybe a timeline
i'm always behind
sprinting as fast as i can
trying to catch up
pushing my legs so hard
and i cry
and i cry
and i cry
because you never get any bigger
you are always a spec on the horizon
fuck
now that i think about it
forever isn't long enough

if i was crushed
in to a wine
i'd be be bitter on your tongue
i wouldn't ferment
just rot
now i don't know why
i hold such a fragrance
maybe i'm self-depressed
always reminding myself
of how big this list
of things wrong with me is
i tell myself i'm alone
hence, i'm alone
a self-fulfilling prophecy
but i'm no prophet
and it's true i have to write
but we've been here before
we've been happy
but no more, no
as you might see
i'm running
running myself down
down all the time
time to turn around
and around and around
'till i'm going in circles
and i end up where i started
my lungs just aren't big enough
for how loud i want to scream
and let everyone know how much i hate
and the few things i love
writing
having the blues
my sad songs
and you
bring me back down
off the roof top
but you know?
it's funny how a few written words
can make me feel better
now matter how depressed i might seem
no matter how rotten my core
my soul has become