I want to keep things simple
from here on out
I want to keep things so damn simple
with blue jeans and white t-shirts.
Let’s set aside our vanities
and let’s hold hands
and keep things simple,
cos I think it diminishes what hurts.
You can be an empress
without fortune or property
and you can keep it simple
with blue jeans and white t-shirts
and music and cheap beer and friends
who hold hands
and keep things simple.
Your soft touch soothes everything that hurts.
Sitting in the dark listening to Ryan Adams’
rendition of Wonderwall
and I hear words that I never heard before.
It feels more desperate than the song I knew
when I was a kid
scrolling through shoddy YouTube playlists
of all those songs on the cool side
of all that I now know as uncool.
I feel a yearning for those days,
but I know at heart I was a miserable kid
and nostalgia’s convinced me otherwise.
Lying awake in bed
Thinking myself to death
And then I think of you
And all the things that we used to do
But I can’t remember how I felt about you
I can’t remember how I felt about you
I only know what I now do
Bitterness and anger and a wholly partisan view
I can’t remember the past without the filter of the present
I can remember the words but I don’t know what they meant.
Sat in the garden
and baking in the sunlight
breathing in the fresh cut
and your mind is idle
your chest moves faintly
as the flowers creep up towards the blue sky.
Alone in the garden
where nobody can get hurt
if I don’t move
I won’t be disturbed
I don’t feel my weight imprint
as I watch my dog chase mayflies.
This silent garden
feels as if it is outside time
as if it were a photograph
that cannot be touched
or altered in anyway
and I don’t feel a dullness in me
as the world reflects in my eyes
The hippocampus is the root of all misery
and I can’t box the past and leave it somewhere else.
I can’t bask in the sun’s warm glow
without thinking about dumb shit I did years ago
and I can’t sit down and read a simple book
I live my life handcuffing myself to the hook.
A couple of months passed over winter
where I found laughter hard to come by
and without laughter life gets oh so quiet
and after laughter your face holds such a warm glow.
I spent all my time missing an absent sun
and admonishing the moon for my own failures.
Every Sunday morning, I can’t shake the thought
that the life I want is the one that we are taught
to want by sitcoms and romantic tv shows,
maybe make-up and cameras would give me a warm glow
but I don’t know.
Raskolnikov felt sick, but he couldn’t say why
but at least he understood what it was that made him cold.
walking home drunk and i don’t feel the cold,
but i’m still afraid of everybody out at this time
so i cross the roads a thousand times on a twenty-minute trip
the bathroom light makes me feel hazy
the bathroom’s light makes me look old
and i feel so tired
but i know i won’t sleep
so i shotgun a beer before i even get in bed.
I’m wasting time by folding pieces of paper in half
and always believing that I can fold it for the eighth time
but it never quite seems to happen.
I’m wasting all of my time trying to run a 4-minute mile
and always believing that I can run in better time
before my legs and chest stiffen
and I’m stuck in the heart of nowhere
You’re sipping your drink, sip by sip
and eventually the glass will be empty
but you’re always surprised when it happens.
You’re always reading and meditating
trying to be the person you promised yourself you’d be
oh so ever-bright and laughing
and holding me close in the heart of nowhere