Burn the World

It is 12:15 a.m. on a Saturday, and my hair looks too good
to sleep alone tonight.

But I got drunk off that stupid joy,
and lady? I can't stand up straight no more.

Don't bother searching for my network, you can find me
underground. This is where/how I will live now. 'Cos

the light can't get us here, but the cold
sure will. I'll invite it in, make a home for it

like I did for you.

We were too full though, I see that now. We had no room left
for the things that should matter.

I see that now.

There was a time when it was bright, and I thought about buying new sunglasses
but I kept the ones I had because I was wearing them when I met you during the storm
when Ian and I went for beer and they almost got taken away with the wind, almost
got knocked off my face, but I kept them on, and you read me Whitman, and I wanted
to tell you how important I thought you'd be to my life, that I had never met anyone
that looked like you, that had your voice or history, but I didn't tell you that then.

I won't tell you that now.

There was a time when it was warm, and it was only one day, but in that day
I was thankful for the fullness and I was taking sips of you, taking swigs of stupid
joy, and I was feeling sublime and you were feeling like you never had before.
You have a brain, you said, and I laughed and said "I do". You have passion,
you said, and I nodded and said "I hope so". You're something rare, you said,
and I wanted to write you a novel, or maybe just a love letter for when you woke.

Now is not the time for overdramatics.
Now is the time to burn the world.

I'll puke on the flames if I want to feel warm again.

Talk

We talk about "love like the whole world", but we don't know a fucking thing
about it. We want to be movie characters; that romantic comedy ending
that plays for Sunday matinee schoolgirls and bitter intellectuals.

We talk about the future like we have a single clue of how it will look.
I'm going to live in a cabin. I'm going to have a two-car garage.
I will never settle down, and you will never be able to find me.

We talk about finding the one, and we're convinced that we have
when we find someone we've never known before. I've never seen
the cut of his jib before. Her scent is from far away places.

These things are important. These things are not love.

We talk about happiness like it's something permanent, like a disease;
once we catch it, it will never go away. We'll have to call former lovers
and tell them of the diagnosis. It's only right (and we're all about being right.)

We talk about our lives like they're worth talking about.
We are not special. We are not unique. We are painfully unoriginal.
And the loves of our lives will smell it on us. We can't hide the scent.

We've been damaged and tainted, brainwashed and slightly bruised.
We've done too much living and not enough in the same useless breath.
We were banished from our homes to look for new ones, only to find

the new homes don't want us either.

The Queen of The Salt Water State (For Kathleen Bennett)

But at least I know we'll never be that far now from each other/

just a couple hundred feet either side of sea level.

- Los Campesinos!, "Hate For the Island"

We thought we could solve the world's problems from this bed,
but we were woefully unprepared. We knew not what we were doing

and we liked it this way just fine.

In another postal code, I have given you a new name; a badge
you can carry and flash when you're in need. We should be so lucky

to bow before you: The Queen of The Salt Water State.

And just because I left, it doesn't mean I left you. For how could I?
You are the conversation topic now. The reason to return

to a place that won't have me. And I love you like the whole world;

that's still enough, isn't it? 'Cos that's really all we have
when it's hard and cold, and the soft spots and hot hands

can't be found. I stole that line from that Welsh band we like,

because we can communicate with chords and borrowed accents,
even though we are so very (sort of) far away. I drop my R's more,

because I thought it would make you smile.

[We don't want to go home, but we are so very sick...]

We don't want to go home, but we are so very sick
of the cold. We rush down stairs, we mind the gap,
and we look for a corner to keep us warm. How long
must we search? It feels like it's been forever

without a bed. We rent-to-own, sometimes sleeping
on a mattress made of air. Sometimes, a sofa
made of bone. No, no -- now you've gone too far.
This is our issue now. We have not gone far enough.

But we are the truest blue -- won't somebody
see this? We've strangled ghosts we've loved more
for less, and we are prepared to misbehave.
We loved them, you see, but they didn't recognize us

anymore. They had to go! back to bed with those
sons of bitches. They kicked and screamed, broke
the backs of chairs as they went. And we laughed
a little bit, like we couldn't see the future. Like

we didn't know their hold on us. Like we didn't
feel their soft, cold palms in our itchy ones.

Sentimental X's (A Title Stolen from Broken Social Scene)

The sound of this day is an incantation; we have conjured a spirit
both ancient and terrifying.
Why do we hate the state we've found?

We don't hate the state.

We are in simple disagreement. She was content
with the life she lead, the head
on her tanned shoulders swiveled.

We all want the next best thing. We all wait for

the next best thing. We all want the next hometown.
We all want the next Asian boyfriend.
Well how do you like them apples? 

We've got ourselves a comedian.

This room, we see, is too full of ghosts. I think our beer
has been dosed. Someone found us having too much
fun. Someone found our beds full-up with new flesh.

Found our volume too high, our laughter too sincere.

We don't want these ghosts anymore. Our new home,
grid like a maze, have hidden us in plain view. One
of many now. One of the disappeared. We have found

new life. You didn't believe, but we said we were exorcising. 

Please, don't read this unless you have to.
Sometimes writers
have a way of haunting back.