Sunday, April 13, 2014

roses

[yeah, i'll be fucked if i'm giving up on any of this.
(you were holding somebody's hand, not sure who it was)]

we were scattered like early century irish,
you see, beneath the glare and the roar of the thompson gun.
hopefully, you're like any of us, and you realize that no one can be saved.
we've dusty gashes and wounds from the highest powers, from the rip
of the brass jackets through our jackets, through our three-piece suits.

yeah, i've finally given up on this idea.
i say i understand and i know, when i just don't know.

yeah, i see you're leaving here (for sure) - there's not much more
darkness to accept.

i've finally given up on all this.
you say you understand when you and i both know
that you just don't know.

the shrapnel and the glass, the endless days, the endless nights,
cold and wet. we know no one. we know nothing but the wounds
we have to lick.

i've given up.
you say you know
when you just don't know.

safe enough to say that our safe days
our days of smiles, of wine and roses,
we've given up.
they're over.