nursing padded walls while the bass gets louderlouderlouder

-

stolen car keys and

street lamps that won't stay on

roads with yellow lines that laugh at their little dance,

that have no subtlety

(and i sympathize only because i'm not made for that either)

but the pavement sides with them sometimes,

likes to hit me in the forehead

(and whatever else it can collide with when it tears through jagged jeans and perfectly polite purple sweatshirts)

-

doors that are too stubborn to unlock and

howling, screaming dogs at two in the morning

drinks that come back to visit

twenty-seven minutes after they disappear

(although i always forgive insolence that avoids me like the moonlight on saturday mornings)

but who knew i couldn't hold my liquor?

certainly the voices.

certainly not the voices.

-

they ruined everything.

but we would never,

we would never.

-

i know they did.

(but you don't really know anything, do you?)

-

because amidst

silvery cadillac keys hiding in back pockets;

street lamps which are too bright for me to see properly through my tears;

roads with yellow lines that blare off the pavement in thick, straight trails to nowhere

and never give a damn about who's leaving blood on the pavement when they trip and fall on their own untrustworthy feet;

door handles that stare stupidly when drunken morons can't find the keyhole;

dogs that jump at every noise but are shut up by their tired owners;

and

alcohol that drips from the chin when all the rest lies in a pool of sick on the side of the road:

they never stopped gloating.

-

my place in the world is -

what are you talking about? this world doesn't give a damn about you.

stick with us; we're the only ones who care.

-

(making some psychiatrist's dreams light up like the goddamn fourth of july.)

a/n: schizophrenicschizophrenicschizophrenicscare-the-teacher-time