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

Until now.

Boring Love

Love is not a wedding.

It isn’t a bouquet of flowers or some sunset we’ve all seen a thousand times,

Deep red.

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,

waiting impatiently

for others to wander in.

Girlfriend 6s

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.

You cried.

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.