Broken Record

It called me, I shoulda known
As the fever sweat through the dream
Told mamma that I couldn’t go
So I could stay home just to watch him dancing
And you could not tell me then
Like you could never ever tell me now
That this is not who I am…

~*~

I lost my way when I told everyone I’m keeping my resolve

I changed directions but hit the brakes when I started to swerve

Blood on the carpet, cracked car window and I don’t regret it

Perhaps it’s just too late, and call me cliché but I just might make it

.

The fever haunts my sleep like a ghost, it keeps me up at night

I’m sweating tears, way past the years of choosing wrong or right

But the final decision won’t be under your static voice’s call

It’s collapsing in weekends and dead ends, need some damage control

.

Reluctance only absolves the manifested consequences it amasses

A separation in the direct degree, as the unread side effects harasses

Querulous impostors screaming diplomatic shrill notes of protests

Drenched to the sin with self-repugnance, scandalising second guesses

.

Those platinum eyes reflect the man submerged in visceral frequency

Staggering the nightmares rushing in my veins, taunting habitual tendency

Show me the alternative to bloodletting and crumpled prescription pills

Embarking to the mistress of a bottle just so time would stand still

.

The blackout makes it easier, ’cause that way I don’t have to look at myself

When the déjà vu is drowning me under familiar sandpits of its miserable help

The taste of being sober, the bitten tongue and the scent of absinthe forsaken

Until I’m too sick and second to none, falling out over and over and over again…

~*~

Showed me that carrot on a string
But just a little too late
The bite from the taste and the smell
Of the sick somehow reminds me to be myself
Over and over again…

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