i can't connect the dots anymore
between bruising memories and discrete identities
just pick a pseudonym and stick with it, girl.
the way i change names is almost a sickness
but i guess it's the least of what's wrong in my mind
with the fickle pace of time and lack of control.
i'm watching my life like it's a movie these days except
there's no fast-forward rewind pause and no
turning down the volume. now let's just assume
we know better than they do and shout at the screen
but those stupid characters don't listen do they,
and tell me that's not just like in the real world.
i've poured out my heart in tired clichés next to
lopsided stars in blue ballpoint ink just hoping
on paper anything would make any more sense.
i know there's no such thing as reason because
we all know (deep down) that all life is random
and the death is too, the death above all else.
smile for the camera dear because you don't want
to be remembered as the girl who didn't smile;
nothing is better at lying than photos.
but always remember to try to believe
in hope because the alternative
is cold raw and terrifying and the pretty snowflakes come along
with the winter gusts that blow the warmth right out of you.