Tuesday, May 17, 2011

That Suburban Brat Thing

Awkward pauses and all.
It's all cute on paper and in the internet.
Sorry baby, tried to warn you, this is what it's like.
I'm full of shit and so are you.
Just in case you were wondering.
I'm half drunk on a weekday and I'm kind of o.k. with that.
Pretty O.K. with that.
It's a little thing that makes me feel all right when everything else feels all wrong.
And some times I'm not sure what the hell you're talking about.
And respect and disrespect are all bullshit.
Disrespect sounds like a legitimate insult.
It's all cute on paper.
I don't mean no disrespect baby, I just don't know what the hell you're talking about.
I'm just afraid of the future.
I've always been.
I can't help it.
Cardboard box homes or ulcer glistened envelopes going to the tax man seem all too real to me.
I've seen people go mad over dollar signs.
It's sick and it's sad and it stuck with me.
I wish it hadn't.
It's all cute on paper.
I like a quiet night full of wind gusts to blow away on.
All by myself.
Head as loud as a thousand voices.
This is what it's really like.
No peace of mind.
All second guessing.
I don't know what the hell you're talking about.
That's probably a problem.
It's so suburban.
It's so bratty.
It's so everything I was until met you.
Until you got your hands on me.
Until you fixed me.
Write it up and print it.
It's all on me.
This will be the story when people ask.
It's that suburban brat thing.
He drinks too much.
He talks too much shit.
He's a brat.
It's all true.
Maybe.
But I still don't know what the hell you're talking about.

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