punkpixie
09/04/05, 05:55 AM
"One more for the road I'm not taking" he said, spoken like a true rebel. He's cool I think, but not in a James Dean kind of way. More like Valium. She likes to spend her weekends at home on the phone, talking it out 'till it's right; all night. And then there's me. I'm the one they watch but never see, and no-one can spell my name right. Even now I'm writing it out on my arm, because I'm tired of spending my breath on it. Every word costs. He likes to spend cash on the 'roses are red's" for her, because he thinks the cliche is flattering. Truth is she'd rather borrow a punk CD and pretend she knows the words instead of buying her own. "It's not your truth to spend" I told her, one night over a dinner she was forced to eat. "They don't pay me extra for keeping my mouth shut" but it's funny how the less you say, the more you give away. I think the way I play with my fork is telling the tale of how I like her. She's eyeing up the waiter in our imaginary establishment, and counting down the minutes in my company. I can't keep feeding her on signals. She's too hungry for someone else. Whoring and scoring drugs by saying "that suit looks good on you". Every consonant and vowel is falling out for him. I'm just falling out. Cars, bars, hearts. He might wear it on his sleeve, but he rolls it up when he sees you coming. I never see you coming. Only going from the edge of my eye when I spew up "I LOVE YOU'S" into my alphabet soup.
I want to tell you to stop taking my words so seriously, but you aren't even taking them at all.
I want to tell you to stop taking my words so seriously, but you aren't even taking them at all.