Lyric Assignment (Draft 2)
I can’t remember if it was alcohol
or you that got me drunk that night,
but I haven’t been able to stop drinking
the taste of the moon
that lit up our first cigarette together,
beaming smiles upon our faces
like the lamp that found its way through your sheets.
We’re slowly dying in the radiant glow
of bad things that left us loving one another,
but I never wanted to be good anyway,
and I never will be good,
not after finding out
you could light up the night for me like that
and make the morning a little brighter.
The skatepark is where you should have jumped,
but I guess we’ve all been getting a little old for that lately,
too old to remind you of all the fun we could have,
but that none of us are having anyway.
Our small town scattered across the nation,
the last thing we all have in common,
too far to see the feelings
you might not have told us anyway.
Too far to see that opportunity
was by your side, rolling down a hill
on glorified popsicle sticks together,
like adulthood could never catch up to us.
I wish we could just go back to breaking bones
instead of ourselves.
We were strong and young
with rapscallion grins,
a glint in our eyes like the skies
we were so fond of taking in.
We were scraped knees and snapping turtles,
fishing line and mountain bikes,
two dollars and a slush puppy
on our way to the frontier,
as it was back then.
If it was raining that day
We were heroes on the Super Nintendo.
We were Ryu and Megaman, Super Mario
and Link. I still play that Zelda game sometimes —
It’s the only Link to the Past I have left.
The sun set on that era,
but it hasn’t set on the memories
we’ve stolen from time,
the ones I carry around
when tomorrow feels too heavy.
I can still be the hero of my own life.
You’re still taking in the skies I’ve forgotten about
Love is not a wedding.
It isn’t a bouquet of flowers or some sunset we’ve all seen a thousand times,
It isn’t a honeymoon or a diamond.
Love is a smile in the grocery store,
or sitting in the waiting room of some hospital together,
just to make sure the other is alright
when you should be going to that class,
the one you already skipped last Thursday.
Love is a cup of coffee when you wake up.
It’s breakfast cooked together before sitting under a blanket
and watching our favourite show on Netflix all day.
Love is seldom a grand gesture,
like an explosion in the night sky
or a ballad from your lawn.
Love can be all of those things,
but it’s mostly when the boring crap in between
becomes okay because of you.
You and I
The thing about
you and I
is we’re more like one,
and less like two,
so in their eyes,
if I’m reflected,
all I really see is you.
Quitting is good, but relapse is much better.
I love the taste of a cigarette after a cup of coffee
with a person I was supposed to have left far,
far behind, one of those moments that will kill you
if you hold onto it too long. I know it can’t last
like anything can’t last, but the adrenaline
slaps a smile onto our faces in the few seconds we have
before I run away forever,
before the synthetic buzz I feel kills me
like the wrinkles I’d eventually get
from the bitterness you made me feel.
Relapse is much better than an empty coffee shop.
We can fill the voids
we left in one another
across the void of a cold table,
for others to wander in.
I thought I was happy,
until they released girlfriend 6s
and man, her features,
they’re out of control.
I need her.
She’s everywhere I go,
stabbing my eyes from a billboard
or that YouTube ad you can’t skip,
and she really makes me think
about how awful my life is without her —
or, at least, she did
until girlfriend 7 came out.
That’s when girlfriend 6s stopped being in all the music videos.
That’s why I’ll never chase her
the way she chased me
from that magazine rack
or the television commercial
that caught my eye:
She was sent to make me hate what I have.
I remember that one time in Belize
when the sun roasted more than our skin —
our words were getting pretty spicy that week.
You said something mean.
I said something twice as mean.
I’ve never seen you cry like that.
It breaks my heart to think about it.
You felt like a ghost:
catering to my little brothers
while the adults drank,
buying fresh fruit at the market
for hangovers that weren’t your own,
and along came I
with a shitty thing to say to you.
You stopped being a ghost that instant.
I hugged you in that shady kitchen,
and shed the last tear I’ve ever shed.
It was for you.
And then we went for a walk in the sun,
and came back with fresh fruit.