Kicked each other in our lowest moments.
We’ve both got our share of Hail Mary’s to
You built a temple of scorn out of my flesh,
and I gladly supplied the eyeballs and blood-vessels
for your centerpiece.
I built an altar to resentment, and
you gave me your ventricles for the Sistine
ceiling; and your
agony was practically acting in a synesthetic
for all the words I should’ve put
And it doesn’t matter if you
to fuck the whole world,
we both know that I will never
be just a notch in your bedpost;
And it doesn’t matter if I
to win a Pulitzer
you will never
be just a line in a song.
I wake up every morning
and I hate the sunrise; and
you take every silver bullet you’ve got left
and you picture me in the ironsights.
But fuck the cliches
about hindsight being twenty-twenty — I dare
you to pull the trigger
and forget this twenty-something
with the eyes glowing at a thousand degrees
We both know you’ll fail.
So play that punk-rock album
a little fucking louder
and try to make it