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Fill Up the Page

Pretty girl why don’t you close your eyes
Pretty girl why do you believe those lies
It feels so clear like the last time that you kissed
Back in the room without being missed

Pretty boy why can’t you leave it here
Pretty boy why can’t it ever be clear
The sensation of love wedged in your fist
You better let go before it breaks your wrist

O, ugly girl you will always be blue
Ugly girl there is nothing you can do
Your outside appearance is not what I mean
It’s what’s inside that is making me scream

Ugly boy you can never find love
Ugly boy you have to push and shove
Most women say,”No!” to your demands
So you force them down with the palm of your hands

Lonely boy how much you have grown
Lonely boy your true heart has shown
Feel free to love and to hold her tight
Because she loves you forever all day and all night 

As for me I feel home
Alone in this cage
Just Living
To fill up a page

’11

Flown Away the Doves

I picked up the dusty photograph

And remembered what you’d said

That I’d probably never make it past fifty

Oh, I’d probably end up dead

The piano locked in the attic

Has our lost dreams trapped inside

And in those dreams are our secrets

The kind of secrets we used to hide

The record player in the basement

That used to play our fears away

It would howl out our memories

And would shelter the things we’d say

The book that was lost on the bookshelf

That held the words you used to speak

We would read it under the oak tree

And lie naked near the creek

The sketchbook that you used

Has been forgotten for years

The graphite has soaked all the pages

And the pages have soaked my tears

This house that we lived in

Oh, since the day we fell in love

Has attracted many black crows

And has flown away the doves

You didn’t think I would make it to fifty

Oh, you thought you’d die alone

But you died in my arms

As I held you with my bones

Held you with my bones

’09

Not Breathing

You showed up in a flurry of color through the hole in my head
Didn’t you see the sign,”don’t knock, just come to bed?”
Because I’m a messed up lover boy with a tendency to punch my own mouth
And ruin a nursery rhyme wedding by fleeing to the sunset in the south

There is an applause in your eyes every time they are opened
Can’t wait for the feeling of dusk in my chest and years of hopin’
But I look like I just lost a fist fight with 10 men 10 times my size
And I look like I lost a fist fight every time I look into your eyes

Don’t give me a challenge, because I’m dumb enough to try without thinking
And don’t give me that look, because I always forget that I’m not breathing

Sweet Pea

I wish you would understand that you have to be your own self-help booklet

I do not have all the answers

They are not in my eyes, but I can see you staring in them like you’re searching for truth

I am not a man of God, but it wouldn’t matter, because the answers he has given us have made life a little less exciting (no bacon?)

But chin up, cheer up, don’t tell me to shut up

I only want to help

Lend me your hands, because I can promise you one thing that I am good at

Loving you wholly and without mercy

Your nerves are on retreat from the love that I am waging

This is war, baby, make sure you’re on the right side

The white flag of surrender is made of your bed sheets 

Let us settle these terms in the same place

Can you feel it tonight?

The groovy shock of chilled air out a hot, humid San Francisco gay dance club is enough to render you fabulous

Your eyes are eyes and they are beautiful

I am in no need for a cliche because they are worth more than a cheap phrase

Cuddle me pink and insane 

I want to be in the padded walls of your warmth

I learned how to say “I love you” in 23 different languages, but I forget 22 of them

You make me want to put on deodorant in the mornings

Sweet pea

myownlost:

meagainstthemusiic:

myownlost:

buttholepoetry:

myownlost:

Maryanne will marry me one day, I guarantee it.

can that day be today?

do you, Maryanne, take me, Vanessa, as your wife?

I OBJECT

on what grounds?

holy grounds

Reblog if you consider Nine your Doctor.

onginalmaz:

I’m doing a thing where i’m trying to find out which is the most popular revival regeneration.

For Ten.

For Eleven.

The meaning of life
Vague or precise
Changes on whether you’re naughty or nice

For not living in San Francisco
I’ve blacked out in a lot of San Franciscan bars

Eyes

I was a surrealist once
My eyes were made of sticks of dynamite
And Dali smoked hooka and played the bongos in my sockets

I was a realist once
My eyes were two globule organs that detect light
They contained irises, pupils, and cones

I was a romantic once
My eyes were oceans that you swam in
And they undressed the curvature of your body

I was a nihilist once
My eyes were nothing
Just some fucking things that I could see bullshit with