Somewhere out there a boy is learning how to drive stick
by driving his drunk father home - Remember it like a vivid lucid dream,
sitting in the back of my dad's van with my little brother, way past our
bedtime on a school night, hoping every swerve wouldn't careen us into
a ditch, wanting my five year old nuts to drop so I could grab the wheel
from him and say, "This is enough."
Seventh grade made it hard to stay grounded, hard to keep those big
glasses from sliding off my small nose. I let a boy borrow a video game
and he never returned it - In a fit of losing fifty bucks she forked over
to buy it for me my mother came to school, confronted the boy and
demanded he hand it over. He did. Every confrontation, every study hall
fight, every tet-a-tet I was told, "Let your mommy come take care of it for
you." The game sat on my Playstation and I never touched it again:
It was tainted by my full-blown weak disposition.
The four easiest years of everyone's lives, coasting through a photographic
memory, disinterested in papers, protractors and everyone's big trucks circling
around the parking lot with their dudes bouncing off the tire gaurds I wanted
to be the guy who smoked a cigarette on his walk from his car to the
double doors, so I did and Farmland made me distant and unresponsive.
Fuck the guitars, the records, the Basics, the gauged ears, the
music - You can have it. I'd have traded them all for a text from the Team Captain
of the Girls Varsity volleyball team inviting me over to her house to study.

Street facing bedroom,
Hot as shit,
$173 to the city of Dayton,
Making payments,
Too legit to quit.

Those first bands I played in, swapping style after style, telling these
people I believed in God not because I did, but because they wanted me to
and let's face it - It beat staying up nights squirming at the thought of it:
Love thy neighbor ("fuck faggots"), thou shall not worship
graven images ("Johnny Walker, take me there"), I just don't need a God to
step into me like I'm the one who doesn't exist.
Fucking with feeling for the first time, in and out, never tiring
of 110 pounds of unconditional love on top of my waist, whispers into the ear,
the pulling of hair, a pain that was acceptable: Rip every follicle out of my goddamn head, I don't care: I'll have your name tattooed on my bald head for the folks
to scorn as long as I never have to cover it up with tattoo apprentice resume work.

Street facing bedroom,
Hot as shit,
$85 to the city of Dayton,
Making payments,
Too legit to quit.

A still quiet creeps onto the street.
A beeramid crumbles to my feet.
That stain the size of a softball by the couch will never go away
and neither will this house when the buildings have had their way
and your number will change and every thought will meander scatterbrained
until they connect, and it will simply be like finding a dollar in the laundry and
nothing more.

Street facing bedroom,
Hot as shit,
Debts paid in full to the city of Dayton.
Done drilling.
Tapped the oil.

Poor advice.
Last edited by stellar_legs at Jun 30, 2010,
drunk as shit but this might be it. what youve been getting at for a long time done perfectly. i didnt expect to come on here and read anything but i couldnt help it. i dont even care its so good
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me