All the words in my mouth that the scene deemed unworthy of letting out banded together
to form a makeshift militia and burrowed bloodily through my tongue and my teeth.
i stood proud in the gallery with my open socket of a mouth for them to see.
they all just laughed and said "that boy , he, that boy's got woe.(woe.) he lives with woe.(woe.)"
and this girl who i met whose pride makes her hard to forget,
she took pity on me (horizontally) but most likely because of my band.(hey)
it's all i can get when i'm lonely and these visions of death seem to own me
in the quiet of the classrooms all across the stacked united states of woe. we live with woe.
she said "i can't get laid in this town without these pointy fucking shoes.
my feet are so black and blue and so are you."
please take me out of my body up through the palm trees to smell california in sweet hypocrisy.
floating. my senses surround my body. i wake my nose to smell that ocean burn.
so now i'm forging ahead past all the plutocrats who sold me out.
go sob in your bed. if life is twice as pretty once your dead then send me a card.
i'm still the optimist though it is hard when all you want to be is in a dream.