Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Get Your Head (Outta of Your Ass)
I can't wrap myself around this, the field is bare, and the summer is long gone. Pity is a fool I forgot to call friend, and sequels are making their comeback this time of the year. I called her Josephine, she called me Waitz, and how I know of her name is a ringing of something that truly once was. I'm the dog that knows where his past is buried, but chooses not to go digging for that hole. There's a shimmer of who I am, who I once thought I was, and who was known as Waitz, and today; I sit on the fat of my belly, sick to tell a tale of forgotten love.
She asks me if he still lives, if I've seen him around, and I tell her, as cool as sharks playing a game of fortune, no. Don't get too close, I have teeth you know.