Don't tell the sun I think she's a fraud, because I said the same thing about my girlfriend, and they both light my life, though they're extremely flawed. Their light shines through the cracks of my ego until I'm vomiting sunshine and sobbing like a sun flare. If you love something, give it away. Well, I tried to let go of Franzia and peanut butter cups, but damn it if I'm addicted. They told me getting smashed and shoving as many peanut butter cups into my mouth at one time was the only wrong way to eat a Reese's. And as I sat there with wine and chocolate on my breath, I realized that the 'love something, let it go' concept was just an idea – an excuse that someone made up, because they couldn't face the truth that if you love something, it'll give you away. “Everything's alright,” said the sun. “Everything's okay,” said my baby. Now I'm seducing girls through slurred speech on a rainy day. My insides were like a wooden door that would not close. 'I'm trying to get some sleep!' I screamed, but my heart remained ajar, and the light trickled through the cracks. 'I'm trying to get some sleep!' and I kept screaming that until I passed out. Swallowing your heart is a recipe and getting it back is an art form. My life looks like an Andy Warhol piece. Writer's block is a prison gate, and confidence is the key, but my insecurity guard keeps walking away with it. My favorite pastime is wondering if everything's going to be okay, and today I'm living less by the laws of the Lord, and more by the unspoken rules of the city. Adultery's a sin? Don't covet? See, I know that you're supposed to drive at least 5 miles over the speed limit, but I didn't know that. I knew that pitch-ins for alcohol are directly tied to social superiority in a superficial community, but I didn't know that. I knew there was class amongst thieves and I knew there was class amongst sleaze; I knew there were get-girl methods and strip club ethics, but I had no idea that to love and be loved is the answer to the universe, and it is the center of our existence as human beings. I had no idea, but now I'm afraid. I'm afraid, because...
I spilled all my guts across the free writer's market,
And an empty poet is like Literature's harlot.
I sent all my blood away on words and planes and trains,
But the confidence I did cling to will not flow through my veins.
Now the desire to desire rises and will not settle
Because I tried to trade my heart away for paper and metal.
I forgot who I was, for the truth and the tragedy
That so many writers only are who the world wants them to be.
And who I make myself to be in the abundant eyes of others
Has become much more important than the two eyes of my mother.
I may be who I used to be. Then again, maybe not.
But if the shallow love of others is all that I've got,
Then I'll probably die alone, on a great, gaping mattress
In a bundle of 'thank-you' notes and high school award sashes.
Today I was elected prince for our winter ball,
But the votes of mindless heads don't mean anything at all.
It's so amazing here, but us humans could use some work
'Cause right now I'm hopped up, eccentric and unnerved,
On the shallow words of others, that mark black and deep,
And all I really want is to fall, and get some sleep.