the story is simple again:
the hero is chased and jumping off a moving train.
the princess is trapped and unable to move
while you keep staring
with an open mouth
and I can just tell you’re dreaming
of something generic.
so here I am
on the last page of the script
on the first floor of the warehouse
tied to a chair
with a bomb strapped to my chest.
it’s the sound of helicopters in the air
and ýour voice through a megaphone
spelling out desires.
that’s so you…
even now
you keep hoping
for the good stuff
but you got this,
you own it,
you’re killing it.
you always have.
it’s an all eyes on you scenario
the countdown’s running
you know your lines, sweetheart.
don’t stutter.

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Look at us, all dressed up again

at the movies holding hands again

lipstick and perfume again

It’s not that difficult.

Foreign words in black and white

knowing our lines by heart

It’s not that difficult.

Or else,

Us on a stage, in perfect lighting

your voice through a microfone.

and ballroom dancing.

A laugh from across of the room

(It’s not that difficult)

 

All it takes is two dragons maybe,

or a night at the bar again

where I order something generic and you’re driving.

 

We lift the jewels from the trash.

We take our bodies somewhere else.

It’s a long drive from your parent’s house to the place you started calling home a year ago.

You chew gum to pass the time and sing along to radio songs like nobody’s listening, because nobody’s listening.

You wish you could be the first person to travel Mars, but then you realize you don’t know all that much about Mars and that other people might be more qualified for the adventure.

You realize the stars make sense but they are boring.

You wish you had something interesting to tell at work.

You turn to your phone and type:

“Throw me in the middle of things! Throw me to the ground and step over me! Slam the door in my face like you mean it. Just for once.”

Silly you…

Silly for reading the primers. Silly for knowing exactly how it works. Silly for being vocal about it. Silly for being the only one not invited. Silly for showing up anyway.

How could you say this is easy a year ago?

When you threw tiny bits of pavement on the pavement and smoked just to the pass the time on the back of a truck

Behind a 7-Eleven, thinking about how Prince’s cremated remains were placed into a custom, 3D printed urn shaped like Paisley Park estate.

You just don’t get it anymore. Everything further away.

So you sweat into your dad’s shirt with no intention of giving it back when suddenly

Someone arrives looking beautiful

And they throw you in the middle of things. They throw you to the ground and step over you and slam the door shut, because they mean it.

And you,
You watch them step over your body with no intention of coming back and it matters less and less.