A Short Story, Sort Of

by Noise Pollution

Can the punk-rockers

even appreciate a beautiful song?

or is that all they are?

No future

but no depth to that concept

While I don’t believe in futures

but I’ll still have one

I believe in drugs

just like they did

but not so desperate

I think

if you reject the man

and people follow you

then you’re

the man, too

man.

I’m staring at the sun

waiting for a rush

of fucking anything

and maybe when I’m done

they’ll reach out and touch

fucking anything

I’m living in a home

I wanna live alone

but I’m a failure

so I razorblade my wrists

just to prove I still exist

and I’m a failure

oh, it sure beats getting high!

if that sounded like a lie

that’s because it is.

When I was barely getting by

and I almost fucking died

at least I wanted to live.

I want to live

in a different world

made of pictures

and lights

and smoke wafting in curls

somewhere with art!

or an artist!

or something in between

with drugs!

and the drunkest

kids I’ve ever seen!

where the blood

that I lose

finds a purpose besides pain

where my drawings

in chalk

are erased by the rain

and that’s okay.

I want to taste

on the tip of my tongue

the taste I want

of a new drug

poison me

put it into my lungs

let it bleed

into my blood

 

I was made for something less than this

so push me down and plant your angel’s kiss

thrust out your tongue, force it past my lips

I was made for something less than this.

 

Drop your glass

on a kitchen tile

cut your hand

and crack a smile

and watch the wine

mix with your blood

maybe it’s

like that with us?

 

I was made for something less than this

so push me down and plant your angel’s kiss

upon my arm, and let the constant drip

I was made for something less than this.

 

And scream

inside-out

waiting for the next one

it’s been far too long

and I am far from done.

Scream

inside-out

 

Scream inside out.

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