then there's the chance
that i'd follow it down
to every inch of
exactitude.
if you tell me to let go,
((& you know i already want to))
then there's the chance that i
will blame it all
on you.
there's the fact & there's
the fiction. then there's the idea
that i'm somewhere in between.
i'm too old for this.
i'm too old to act like i'm a child,
too old to pretend that it matters,
it doesn't.
i'm too young to make a decision,
to make the iron hot
by striking.
if it meant something
if it meant anything,
that you had me pinned down
to the floorboards, staring
at the pages of a magazine,
making me feel as small
as a fly caught in honey
((knowing soon i'm going to die...))
you put me down there to make your self so, so big & powerful & everything & it makes me so, so mad just burnt up & angry & strong by the silence. i've got you through the glass, i've got you in my veins. ihateyou ihateyou ihateyou because you lack the reason, the sensibility. you lack the fucking ability. & if ever i stood by that stretch of sea & wondered how i could ever stand without you, then i take it all back.
if you don't have the time
to say that you could be wrong,
but you've got all the hours to say
that you're right, then you don't
possess the perspective.
i'm tired.
get out of my life.