puppy love vs. teaching old dogs new tricks

im sensing some antidote in the way the world has been speaking to me.
but im all heart with these fingers stuck in my ears-playing scenes from my head so loud that i cant hear whats happened.

"there are plenty of fish in the sea" quip pretty fisherman on boats in stocked lakes and fish farms.
do you think about me when you see the moon in the afternoon?
"shape up or ship out"
im nailed and boarded up in a box addressed to somewhere else.
of all gods jokes, i am the most cruel- i will make you forget your head
and your rules
and your friends
and your faith

we are bricks on gas pedals.
we are the ink on forged checks.
i will make you mine and then forget you.
my head is too crowded for the company.
can we go back to how it was?
before there was a world out the front door that got off on being down.
stockpiled good fortune and am ready to wait out the storm.
i want you in my after 12am veins.
lately it all just feels like looking up through ice in a frozen pond at red cheeked families skating, carefree.
to be honest, even though im nodding off in class rooms-id rather lay my head on a curb somewhere with you than any of the rest of it.
and the universe doesnt care about luck or headlines.
someone whispered "make yourself" in my ear once.
steal me away from all of this.
make yourself.

forgive me for all the times i messed with your pretty head

actually dont.
it doesnt really matter either way.
it all turns out the same.
alphamale. omegalove.
every dog has its day and all.
but i think we slept through ours...
theres no sucess quite like failure. trust me. i can be a character witness.
dodging bars that noone can find and noone can get into. it becomes a parody of itself.

i love borat for bringing the mustache back before mike cardin could.

but the prestige makes me want to pack it all up and move to the 1800's.
id bring back walkmen with sweet yellow headphones and be like the king of the world.

dont burn me out on borat by trying to do the accent: here's a hint- you dont do it very well.


back to diary-ing....

i mean, really, how many times do you need to check your voicemails to realize noone is calling.
put me down or fix me- but more like a cat or dog...
had a dream where i picked orange leaves from blonde hair in moonlight.
and im left forever edning signals back to you in black night.
gotta run these words are terribe at best, ill be back to clean up this mess. i need to go to sleep not to read more,.,. or maybe not.