Music & Metaphors

L Is Dead

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 16:27:25 +0000

Gone is the girl everyone thought so little of. The one you said would never succeed. She’s gone and she won’t be coming back. Oh you might remember her. Some of you might remember her as the girl you once passed in the hallway or the one you used to get high with. Some might remember her as the best ride of their lives or just another girl who graced their sheets.

Oh yes you might remember her. But she surely won’t be missed.

There’s no “L” In Team

Fri, 09 May 2008 03:19:14 +0000

I will miss this. You. Them. I was never good at goodbyes, y’know. I have separation issues. I hate it when people leave.

So here it is, here I go. One last glance at everything, everyone. At all those things I’m moving away from. Some hands would remain familiar, I know. John’s hands gripping Red Horse bottles, Victor’s hands on spoons, Paulo’s hands on bicycle cards, Katrina’s hands spilling truth.

I pray YOUR hands stay familiar too.

To The Boy Who Eats Parmesan as Pulutan

Sat, 03 May 2008 01:36:03 +0000

You have no idea how you’ve saved my sanity over and over. How I grab onto our 1am drinking sessions and half-stoned conversations when I can’t hold onto anything else. You’re my fucked up wonderwall man. My soft place to fall.

Oh I’m not saying this just because the words sound pretty. We both know you don’t need the flattery. These words are meant. They are as tested as the Red Horse bottles we cling to at night. As real as the something-just-died-in-my-mouth taste on my tongue the morning after.

I love you man. You and your twisted take on things and how you listen to the best music. Truth is, you inspire me. The way you throw yourself at life as though it were a lion with gaping jaws. And while everyone else is busy running for cover, there you are, frozen in awe by its beauty. Oh you’re not naive about the fact that it might bite your head off any second, but you seem to find it impossible to flea from something so real just for the sake of fear. That is who you are. And that makes me want to be like you sometimes… Only better looking.

I guess I’m just trying to thank you. For the fucked up way you comfort me. For the safety I find in your presence. For the weed. The alcohol. Those nights spent on songs and cigarettes.

And always know man, wherever you are.. You’re one of the brightest little fireflies in my jar.

I’m All I’ll Ever Be

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 02:25:55 +0000

Stray sentences over and over again. Words that traced how your hands got tangled in my hair. I’ve memorized your eyes like comets, y’know. And oh if I could have breathed you in I would have. But I forced myself upon you, pushed you away for want of something more. Pounded on the door of your chest day after day. If it had been made of wood I may have smashed my way in, but it was made of cotton sheets. Y’know, the kind that speak of lazy summer mornings as lovers roll about beneath them, with a backdrop of spinning mix CDs.

Oh you were the opening of a Jack Johnson song. Waking up too early in the morning with nowhere to go. You were 7am split in two. An unanswered conversation with a friend that asked if I spent the night with you.

You left thinking you never changed me, never made me better. But my best was already there, baby. You held it in your fingertips. Kept it in your kiss.

Busy Little Firefly

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 00:15:20 +0000

Chris and I hung out last night. Two stories up, one heartache down. We spent hours on guitar riffs and sad lines. I didn’t write though. Because I’m tired of writing about you. And I don’t trust myself to pick up a pen and not write truth. You’re all my fingertips seem to hold now.

So I just listened. Intense, how I felt the vibrations run through my chest, having it beat for something other than your hands for a few hours.

Oh and Chris & I, we talked. Talked about girls and boys and the way they break you. The way they get in there and rip you apart. But we spared one another the painful talk, veiled it with humor and jokes about bad sex experiences. I realized then that if I could forget you like this 24 hours a day, I’d be okay.

But I don’t see that happening. Not yet. Not yet.