"I had a feeling once/That you and I/Could tell each other everything/For two months/But even with an oath/With truth on our side/When you turn away from me/It's not right" — "I Think Ur A Contra" by Vampire Weekend, Contra (2010)
I'm sitting here tracing my veins, trying to find the blood clot that is constricting my happiness. I try to count all the platelets that are building up — deep smile lines, scents, the inside of your car, every cross word we've ever slung, every word you're not speaking to me now.
I like it better here inside my head. I like my pretty thoughts, I like my humor. Sometimes I even manage to like myself, just a little bit.
So why can't I just be happy alone? I lay my head down at night, looking at this modern tin can telephone, knowing its copper string leads no where. There is no one to talk to in the middle of the night, no one I can whisper my dark secrets to. No one who cares what's it's like inside my head.
Everyday I walk these streets and feel like every door is closed on me. I start to wonder if I'm already homeless. I start to fear I'm the phantom, that he was real and I'm left behind, this ghost staining his city. So I scream, I cry, I laugh, I sing as I walk home, to prove to everyone that I'm the real one.
I try to use these 250 albums like sandbags to hold back the flood of grief in my life. I try to pull out lines from their songs like little love letters I no longer receive. I try to stitch them all together, to make an armor to keep out the loneliness, the emptiness. But all I have are sloppy lines scattered like leaves at my feet, statused like the insane writing on walls, them all meaningless to everyone but me.
Things would be easier if I could just be upset with you. If I could just be honest, and ask you why you don't talk to me like you used to. But I'm already defeated. When you turn away from me, it's not right. It's not right.
1 comment:
Most of this was influenced by the dreamweaver and me. Check my links.
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