:: Boy In Corner ::

:: Monday, August 30, 2004 ::

fuck it. i'm tired of censoring myself. this was written on 5/13/04.

<>Subtle subtleties ring from my guitar,
Playing chords that bring back memories like
Opening old scars of dying cars and no stereo,
Beach sunsets, red tresses and matching dresses.
I sigh.
Old poems still sing, and unearthed emotions still sting,
And no matter what tomorrow brings
I'll still be missing you. <>

And sometimes I fight urges to say "I miss you," but what do I do but sit back
And chew on my tongue to keep it from slipping,
I think I'm tripping on my dreams, or at least that's what it seems,
And my mind is unraveling at the seams whenever you're gone. <>

But it's been a few years, and it'll take more than beers to cement
The status of you and I down in stone. <>
I'll own up to my feelings if I must,
But they can be pretty robust and that's scares me,
Shivers up my spine, icy blood like chilled wine
Seeping through my veins like liquid pain at the speed of a bullet train
Running over my foot. <>

But disregard this as fiction, as I have a near-psychic prediction
Of the predicament that we'll lament over the next few years.
And tears may fall, as they always do, but what can we do but just be true:
You be you and I'll be me, and whether apart or together
I'll still be me
And you'll be you. <>

So erase this from your memory like Eternal Sunshine
Or hit the rewind and reverse the order that these word fall under,
Until the confusion has torn the meaning asunder.
So like thunder I command you to forget what you've read,
The meaning has left these words: they're hollow and dead.

:: Rick Kitagawa 8:45 PM [+] ::
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