balance/dive/red tape


and if it's a balance or a dive, well, ari says it's not, so -

the words may be SHIT but every single note is like a heartbeat to me, every single

city bus a testing tray of infected cultured swabs. every forgotten newspaper moans

the name of a girl who has not had to yet sleep out in the gutter. and we know who

we're supposed to love but we don't know how. we battle like soldiers and sleep on

the same side of beds that are separated by too many city blocks. and i need to be

so much closer, because this great divide is pushing me to the edge. and he said,

"you've been victimized and you probably need HELP."


and if it's a balance or a dive, well, sickness says it's not, so -

someday i hope to find these words plastered on notebooks across america just like

those movie slogans have been tattooed across my face. and every streetlight is a

spotlight for some mediocre, everyday, random actor/actress/other who might have

piercings, wear a siut, or have lips the size of Hurricane Katrina. it doesn't matter where

you are as long as you're somewhere you want to be. and quite truthfully, i'd rather be

anywhere but here at any other time than now. and you're just standing there holding on

to the remnants of that christmas present you left on the movie theater floor, and regret.

she said, "you're a beautiful drunk and i love the way you look right now."


and if it's a balance or a dive, well, tommy says it's not, so -

and you always said "so, how goes the good fight?" before i realized it was a song title...

...man, i thought you were so creative. every balloon holds a secret we let float away. every

streetlight promises that NO, i will NOT be the one to write that obligatory song that everybody

writes at least once about a girl while driving drunk one February night. no, then i'd have to turn

out like you. and that's something i never want to do. i'd rather be dancing with you than with

myself. so it's late and i'm running out of blue ink, my gum has lost its flavor, and the color green

and los angeles smog isn't what i thought it was. i can't wait around for this well to run dry any

longer. it's my turn, again, to say "hey, THIS is my screen name, so get online after school."


yeeeeah. just like that.


yeah. just like that.