Wednesday, January 23, 2013


after a long talk by jake kilroy.

like spectators mad with mist
and furious about flesh,
we loom in these cars
and these bedrooms, true,
but we mangle our fingers
writing letters to hearts
using bones as pens
and blood as ink
and we terrify ourselves
with the lasting pride
we can't swallow
but we keep drinking
and drinking
until we choke and spit
and vomit and cry
and bitch and complain
and threaten and take action,
until we're in the final throughs
of a spiritless bed
going over photographs
we couldn't retake
with all the technology in the world.
so we play guitar worse than last year
and the year before that,
and the year before that,
until we reach ourselves as teenagers
and beg for forgiveness over and over
and its pitiful and awful and devoid of hope
and all we can do as our younger saintly self
is huck a pat on the back
and tell us monsters of age
that everything will be alright.

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