we know who we should love, but we're never certain how.
dear diary,
i want to shout it from a mountain top, but i think i'll just smile instead.
love and other perishables,
erin
p.s. i'm also sad because someone i care about is hurting. i hope he knows how much i love him.
daily reading of the lyrical gospel: how i don't know how to sing, i can barely play this thing, but you never seem to mind, and you tell me to fuck off when i need somebody to. how you make me laugh so hard, how whole years refuse to stay where we told them to back off, locked up blinding in a word or a misplaced souvenir. how the past chews on your shoes and these memories lick my ear. i know you might roll your eyes at this, but i'm so glad that you exist. how we waste our precious time marching in the picket line that surrounds those striking hearts, and the time is never now, and we know who we should love, but we're never certain how. i know you might roll your eyes at this, but i'm so glad that you exist. i know you might roll your eyes at this, but i'm so glad that you exist. i know you might roll your eyes at this, but i'm so glad that you exist. (the weakerthans- the reasons)
why don't you ever wanna play? i'm tired of this piece of string. you sleep as much as i do now, and you don't eat much of anything. i don't know who you're talking to. i made a search through every room, but all i found was dust that moved the shadows of the afternoon. and listen, about those bitter songs you sing: they're not helping anything. they won't make you strong. so we should open up the house. invite the tabby two doors down. you could ask your sister if she doesn't bring her basset hound. ask the things you shouldn't miss, tape hiss and the modern man, cold war and card catalogs, to come join us if they can. girly drinks and parlor games, we'll pass around the easy lie of absolutely no regrets, and later maybe you could try to let your losses dangle off the sharp edge of a century. we'll talk about the weather or how the weather use to be, and i'll cater with all the birds that i can kill. let their tiny feathers fill disappointment. lie down and lick the sorrow from your skin. scratch the terror and begin to believe you're strong. all you ever want to do is drink and watch tv. frankly, that thing doesn't really interest me. i swear i'm going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood if you don't stop the self-defeating lies you've been repeating since the day you brought me home. i know you're strong. (the weakerthans- plea from a cat named virtue)
i want to shout it from a mountain top, but i think i'll just smile instead.
love and other perishables,
erin
p.s. i'm also sad because someone i care about is hurting. i hope he knows how much i love him.
daily reading of the lyrical gospel: how i don't know how to sing, i can barely play this thing, but you never seem to mind, and you tell me to fuck off when i need somebody to. how you make me laugh so hard, how whole years refuse to stay where we told them to back off, locked up blinding in a word or a misplaced souvenir. how the past chews on your shoes and these memories lick my ear. i know you might roll your eyes at this, but i'm so glad that you exist. how we waste our precious time marching in the picket line that surrounds those striking hearts, and the time is never now, and we know who we should love, but we're never certain how. i know you might roll your eyes at this, but i'm so glad that you exist. i know you might roll your eyes at this, but i'm so glad that you exist. i know you might roll your eyes at this, but i'm so glad that you exist. (the weakerthans- the reasons)
why don't you ever wanna play? i'm tired of this piece of string. you sleep as much as i do now, and you don't eat much of anything. i don't know who you're talking to. i made a search through every room, but all i found was dust that moved the shadows of the afternoon. and listen, about those bitter songs you sing: they're not helping anything. they won't make you strong. so we should open up the house. invite the tabby two doors down. you could ask your sister if she doesn't bring her basset hound. ask the things you shouldn't miss, tape hiss and the modern man, cold war and card catalogs, to come join us if they can. girly drinks and parlor games, we'll pass around the easy lie of absolutely no regrets, and later maybe you could try to let your losses dangle off the sharp edge of a century. we'll talk about the weather or how the weather use to be, and i'll cater with all the birds that i can kill. let their tiny feathers fill disappointment. lie down and lick the sorrow from your skin. scratch the terror and begin to believe you're strong. all you ever want to do is drink and watch tv. frankly, that thing doesn't really interest me. i swear i'm going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood if you don't stop the self-defeating lies you've been repeating since the day you brought me home. i know you're strong. (the weakerthans- plea from a cat named virtue)