Pain from Old Wounds: Pink Scars and Empty Bars

Tongues and trips, tasting of acidic bitterness. The cowards and the martyrs dropping ash on the self-serving altars. We wore world weariness like a dead father's coat, a familiar history tainted by hormones and growth spurts. Spurt of the moment, changing every time we closed our eyes to see the stars. You saw the good in me like fog on the stained glass window of a burned down church. Settling for happiness over the nose bleed head rush of the high ground. Take some bad advice, get hurt and accept humanity for all the ill fitting promises of divinity. Every time we spoke of setting the world on fire, I knew you would be our fireman. A St. Paul surrounded by wounded atheists: our hearts ashtrays, our bodies landfills, our minds filing cabinets for the ongoing quid pro quo. Once at that stone bench, across each other with a pack of cigarettes I told you I would save the world if I didn't hate it so much. As if I could be an anti-hero in someone's story, powers of cynicism and fear that the world isnt that bad peppered with bon mots. I'm ready to accept the redemption that gets neglected in the metamorphosis from damaged to productive. To stop saying what if and how come and say so what. That last bad year of tabloid headlines, then to today, all the blood shed along the way. The collateral damage of Stockholm Syndrome suicides. The "I think I like you because I hate myself" greeting card gets burned at the self improvement is exasperation seminar. I want to rewrite the shooting script. Take it as it comes, not how I think it should or want it to. When the environment begins to show in the destruction of the free radicals, the nuclear holocaust becomes a bit less funny, and a lot less romantic. Good writers kill themselves. I'm not ready to take that step. I want to hold the mirror to the lines being cut of my generation. People want the graphic details of a familiar story. They arent ready for unknown beauty, I can crack wise and philosophize, but the simple things keep eluding me.

In to out, left to right.

	St. Vincent And The National - Sleep All Summer .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

	Mountain Goats - This Year .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine