Quitting

I'm smelling myself in past dimensions,
because my mind's still going in a mllion directions,
and synasthesia's still scaring the shit out of me.

The taste and smell were always the same,
and they made me so glad that you came,
and I can't believe this fear is what will make me free.

The continued pulsing won't go away with time,
and I'm still being punished with enjoyment of the crime,
and no pill I swallow will make it go away.

So this is the feeling, to unburden myself,
to stick every last bottle up on a shelf,
and tell a room of strangers what I've done...?

Well then I'm left here just asking
whose will I've been tasking,
and what the hell do I do now for fun?

Without a Hangover

Staring out the window at what the realtor called a 'view,'
I shudder to wonder at what matters less.
Is it me or the archane systems I represent at every turn.

Flipping through the pages of what my uncle calls the 'news,'
I listen for anything worth calling noise.
Is it me or the silence that makes me sick?

Sifting through the seeds & stems of what my buddy calls 'good times,'
I try to feel anything sharp enough.
Is it me or the grass that makes t.v. bearable?

Picking through the scattered remains of what Mom called 'leftovers,'
I try to imagine what sense I'll still feel.
Is it me or the mustard that stains everything?

Sitting on that wooden perch your father called 'an example,'
you try to pretend I'm what you worked for.
You laugh because there's nothing to say.*

*Slipknot, "No Life" Slipknot (1999)

Caana

I'm addled in what you've designed.
It's what causes these spaces in my mind.
It's what leaves me unable to find
the place where the world should be kind.

I'm strapped in for a daily ride.
It's what leaves me without any pride.
It's what makes me wish I'd already died,
while I wait for your disease to kill me from inside.

I'm sniffing at every new scent.
It's what leaves me broken & bent.
It's what leaves my head with a dent,
while I beg for more time to pay rent.

I'm wondering what happens now.
It's why I pointlessly rub my brow.
It's what breaks me under the plow.
It's why I'm dying, but just not how...

No Field Goals

I want nothing and you'll never see
the very little it takes to drive me
to the brink of a stroke, it's where you live,
when I'm all full, and there's nowhere to give.

It's why my feet continue to move,
even when there's nothing to prove,
and you're reaching ahead for whatever may come
and I'm only happy when I'm down & dumb.

There's so much out there I should need,
yet only certain hungers I ever feed,
no matter how hard you're clawing away,
I'm left here waiting for the end of the day.

So just be happy with what you've got,
and don't worry until you hear the shot,
because I promise not to make such a big mess
when my desire can finally reach for no less.

Omni Presents

So I was thinking, maybe he can't see it all.
Maybe he's just been around too long
to wonder if we're praying or breaking into song,
to know whether or not we give a shit about right from wrong.

So I was hoping, maybe I'll get away with it.
Maybe it's not about eventual perfection,
but just about possibly making a connection
to forget the science of thought & natural selection.

So I was guessing, maybe there's nothing to look forward to.
Maybe omnipotence is as good as it gets
and it's less fun to get away with whatever he lets,
and all you do is take the gamble out of all your bets.

So I was begging, maybe I could lose the guilt.
Maybe my intelligence won't let me feel so down
to wonder why I'm even allowed to stick around
to beg in tears for final forgiveness before I'm rotting in the ground.

Control Denied

I'm sweating and beautifying
but inside I feel like dying.
These pictures of you just smile so hard.

I see what this work will bring me,
a new, handsome boy that I can't be,
I still can't believe you ran so far.

A heart not soft enough for you,
sad old man and what he couldn't do,
is all that's left since you walked away.

An angel in black,
who will never come back
helped me begin to die that day.

I guess I'll never make it.
I wish you would've let me fake it,
to have my own heart, but you had to break it.

In Ashes

I'm not losing my mind this time, and it all hurts so much more.
It's like finally getting off the pipe, and still going on being a whore.
I've been begging for blindness since I was old enough to see.
I swear to God, I want to die, but not with eyes not free.
Soon I know, we'll walk away, and we'll never come back.
Soon I know, I'll be obsessed, I'll be crying for some smack.
These realizations are constantly scaring the shit out of me.
I'm out of tears for that one last chance to get the fit out of me.
There's not one soul that's left, none that I can trust.
By this time next year, I know I'll turn to dust.