sometimes it's like 
"Sorry, man. I can't carry you. My pockets are full."

and then the ugly side comes out 

in the face of denial, the ugly side comes out 

but it doesn't give me room for me
to love a stranger .

Sometimes,
I quote the old great songs 
carried on high like gospel 
picked out of a smoke stained book
older than I've ever been 
worn, ill-fitting
language , tumbling forth 
like skeletons in a closet
and I am no cleaner for it 
no better off to espouse the beliefs 
of a thousand youths already misspent 
1001 if you count my own 

"The only thing I ever learned from love 
was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you"

I feel much older now 
caught up in that age where
sitting in bathroom stalls, chasing muses 
makes my legs fall asleep and I
suddenly am stricken with a future where I can't walk on my own anymore , closer than I'd like it to be 
weaker, yet the load does not feel lighter 
lighter, but the will does not feel stronger 
from savior to strawman 
cracking like windchimes
bowing under the weight of bravery
howling and bracing like winter 
begging for a reprieve 
so uncharacteristic
of time to give

"I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control // I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul"

And you get a minute in a spotlight 
tied to an event horizon of bad dreams :
tied to a spiritual bedpost 
of a tired, off-duty clown 
(But he still wears the shoes) 
he announces the next act in a tape recorded conversation:
'youre not the man I thought you were
if you're not gonna fuck me--
where's my real man?
stop crying -- 
where's my real man?
stop crying -- 
I know you can, you just won't
you're choosing not to love me
you never loved me
maybe I'll just go fuck b$$$$$$' 

tithes to fall asleep, i suppose

stricken down to second place 
thru apathy and other small victories
or 
empathy and other ways to care about you
but I guess that depends 
what side of the conversation you're on. 

"You'll never know just how much
I loved you
You'll never know just how much
I cared"

signature steak,
factory grill marks
tongued cold by the kitchen sink
3am fruit, deeply pitted, 
picked around 
left for gas station food. 

"Some people say that there's
a woman 
to blame
but I know
it's my own damn fault" 

I've never really been good and memorizing lines
but now I know these by rote 
and have a stage name 
make up:
spiritual armor,
that I'm not want to wear anymore
but the fit is so good 
and the whiskey is warm 

'this one goes out to my fellow 
one trick ponies.'

this one goes out

to the day I broke like a wave 

and spilled into loving someone

with enough space for every face I've ever worn

all at once