fuck feeling sorry for myself...
heres a random ass thing i wrote last year...
This dark musty room…the smell of cigarettes lingers in the air. I pick up my guitar and start to strum. Drunk, I sing a song of sadness. I sing of life after death, of pain before pleasure. I let all hope that drowns beneath my skin invade me bitterly. I never let anyone in, don’t let anyone out.
I take another cigarette out of the torn and ragged pack…spark it with my new bic and begin to sing with more effort. The tears start to roll down my face as I reminisce of days that life brought me happiness. The only happiness I find now is a quickee in the front seat, ten shots of JD, and blunt or 5. I turn the nearby fan on to watch the smoke filter throughout the room.
“You were all I had, all I ever needed. Where are you now? Why didn’t you stick around to watch me grow older? Why can’t you take care of me now?”
I glare at the memories on the wall. You were so happy with me and now you’re not. We’d make love under the stars and you’d stare at me with those big ol’ green eyes and kiss me with those tender lips. Now it’s all gone, just like that.
“Baby, where are you now? Why won’t you come back around my way? I’m sick of sleeping and not smelling your sweet honey hair when you’re gone. Just come home babe.”
My fingers hurt from pressing these strings. I put my guitar down and lay on my bed. Shoes still on, you’d always bitch at me for shit like that, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You left my heart screaming and aching for you, but you don’t care anymore for my “shit faced, going-nowhere, bitch”, your words I recall. I miss that tone of voice you’d get when you wanted me and no one else. You’d just run your fingers through my hair, and nothing was wrong, because everything was perfect.
“You said it once, and I’ll repeat your words, ‘life never gets better, but you can make yourself the way you’d like to be.’ I done made myself better, but you don’t need me anymore…”
I pull out the ol’ shot gun you’d go hunting with and I stroke it gently. Flashbacks of shooting ducks with you, cloud my memory. Riding horses through open fields, ditching friends and fucking behind the shed…man it was perfect. I now see that pine tree that we carved our names into…you and me babe was what you’d said. You demolished the knife your grand-daddy gave you that day, but you didn’t care ‘cause we was in love.
“I’d give my life for just one chance to take you back. To feel your love surround me as I sleep is all I need. I’m sick of crying, sick of lying to myself. You’re not coming home, and if you were, then shit you’d already be here. But it is now my time to go, and you’ve made me realize that, ‘deep down inside, no man has got real reasons.’”
That last line, I never understood till now. What you were trying to say was, deep down underneath every man….their is a woman…and baby you just aren’t it. I put my half smoked cigarette in the ashtray and I pick up a pen and paper. I scribble down something, if it’s not legible then shit be god damn, but if it is this is what it said,
“I’m gone for the night…I’ll come back when it’s my time. I’ll sing my song on the front porch again with you on my mind. I’ll make love to you under the stars again, but not till the time comes…sugar pie, not till the time comes.”
