The Awful Truth

Sometimes you just gotta be horrible.

Too Dark Heart

Don't smile at me with your too white teeth. I know you are absconding with my best friend on a chilly Saturday night and filling him full of drugs so he'll see you all rose coloured. I know your thieving ways. I've experienced them first hand when you stole my heart and failed to return it. I know you've let it rot under your bed next to the big bag of mescaline you've forgotten all about. Just so much trash now.

Don't fucking spread that too wide grin in my direction. I've seen it before and felt the ice in your touch. No heat I radiated was going to melt that snowball heart of yours. You froze me through the summer and nearly killed me in the winter. You are much too handsome to be trusted.

There is wire missing in your fucked up head. The one that links love to emotion to somebody else. You dwell in yourself and try to rip yourself apart rather than accept the love that surrounds you. You are leaving me out in the cold. Leaving me unhappy but numb. I'm starting to go the way of rejection to the outside world. Why leave here when out there I can feel them thinking and hear them breathing and feel their distaste for me? I want to rip those stupid smiles off. Everyone of them. I want to rip out those frozen hearts and show them the reasons.

I see you there; smiling. I see you. Drug happy and nearly stupid with selfishness. I have my anger to keep me warm; to keep me company on these long nights. It whispers in the sweetest homicidal voice you ever heard and sings me to sleep. It cradles me in burning arms. Wraps me in immeasurable fondness. I call myself Monster and with crooked stained teeth rip my dreams of you to shreds.

Cocaine Skyline

He hurls the motorbike into the sharp highway corner, skipping gears as he leans the bike to the side. His knee almost grazes the pavement. The speed whipping his long hair back behind his ears. The wind drying the tears from his eyes. He's not running from anything. He's not running.

He's not running from his pretty rich boyfriend on the other side of town. That perfectly angler face and full lips. The way that pretty boyfriend slips naked into bed and then into him. He's not running from that pile of cocaine sitting on a mirror on the coffee table or the insessant ringing of his cell phone. Rich junkies are just as shady as poor ones.

He's not running from that professor he's having an affair with when her husband is out of town. So much older than him, but beautiful in her experiences. She talks about philosphy and poetry over breakfast. He sits fascinated but soon enough is weaving through the heavy traffic back to that those moutians of cocaine and his soft lips.

He's not running from that innocent girl in his calculus class that keeps batting her eyelashes at him. He wants to taste that virginity dripping down on his tongue. Finds himself staring at her, imagining what she would look like with her knees in the air. That school girl look crumpling into sheer hunger. He shakes his head and is running agian.

He's not running from all that Catholic guilt his mother bestowed upon him. The guilt that eats at him like the cocaine eats at the membranes in his sinuses. The guilt for every moment of sexual bliss. Every moment of druggy release tearing through his veins. The guilt pushes the bike faster. The yellow lines become a blur as they rush by. Faces in passing cars become streaks of light and flashes of teeth. The skyline darkens; the night takes on a blue hue. The guilt takes flight as he goes faster still and all the weight lifts up to that dark heaven.

He's not running. He's just trying to find the fastest way to his own destruction.

Lumpish

I wish I was dead.

...
Wait...

I'm probably just being overly dramatic.

My muscles aren't fitting right. The government is taking all my money. My lover doesn't love me. I don't have no booze in the kitchen and I can't even get drunk. I smoked all my drugs up. These pills the doctor gave me to pull it off don't do nothing fun. The phone refuses to ring. My teeth are clenching and won't stop. There's a dead horse in the ditch outside. A hooker stole my shoes. The junky down the street keeps singing off key and I forgot the words to those hangman hymns. The dentist called me all angry that I hadn't paid my bills. I'll owe student loans still in my grave. They will be taxing my headstone. I've got my soul on the lay-away plan so I'm having trouble feeling anything clearly. That tree I planted last year in the yard sprouted up a thorny bush. The fucking condos are creeping up the street and blocking out the sun. My love letters get returned unopened and with postage due. I've been hanging out with the ghosts downstairs too much but they have better cookies than I do.  I have a gun but it only shoots water. I can't afford the bullets.

...
Wait...

Maybe I do wish I was dead.

Sugar

I want to be loved like a mouthful of candy.