really though, reblogging is a rip-off

The unmarked dress

falling over thin-skinned knees

lightly- bruised and warm.

The less lonely couch, less figurative

Pushed against the wall, placed always

Under the browning photo

Holding hands, twins of color,

one fading beyond vision,

in such recessions

Your absence protrudes the other

And just like him

It’s the meat that gets claim in a watery soup

And the spoon that gets reused, washed and

Sometimes polished with age

But it found her or is finding her

The only relics of the bed is that

Damned roadside couch,

Reminding us that the things we find

Are so much more valuable than the

Things we buy

or bought.

And just like that dress

Hanging in it own’s effigy, with no other

Useless in the dark closet behind wood doors,

While the fabric of our own skin

Gets worn, torn, scrubbed but

Rarely ever tossed out.

Occasionally time pulls that dress out

(Like Emily Dickens)

Anchoring on the hardness of the sofa

Because the dress fits too well

With the memories of the bed too soft.

Intro:
Am C
Am C
A C
D Am C

Verse:

Am              C
Come on skinny love just last the year
Am             C
Pour a little salt we were never here
        Am           C
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
               D                                Am   C
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer

Am                 C
I tell my love to wreck it all
Am               C
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
        Am           C
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
             D                   Am
Right in the moment this order's tall

Chorus:

  C
I told you to be patient
  C/B            Am
I told you to be fine
  C
I told you to be balanced

  C/B            Am
I told you to be kind
       C
In the morning I'll be with you
            C/B             Am
But it will be a different "kind"

        C
I'll be holding all the tickets

              C/B            Am
And you'll be owning all the fines

Verse:

Am               C
Come on skinny love what happened here
Am             C
Suckle on the hope in lite brassiere
        Am           C
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
               D                          Am
Sullen load is full; so slow on the split

C

Chorus:

  C
I told you to be patient
  C/B            Am
I told you to be fine
  C
I told you to be balanced

  C/B            Am
I told you to be kind
    C
Now all your love is wasted?

     C/B              Am
Then who the hell was I?
        C
Now I'm breaking at the britches
           C/B             Am
And at the end of all your lines

Bridge:

C
Who will love you?

C/B      Am
Who will fight?

C        C/B      Am
Who will fall far behind?

The Anti-Tourist

http://theantitourist.wordpress.com/

this is a pretty sweet website if you’re tired of travelling in your Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts and hiking boots to every damn country you go to. or maybe you’re tired of looking for the safe places to stay or the art museum with admission fees. i’m not sure if these writers have that to offer but, i know that i’m just plain tired of just travelling around, leaf-ing thru the Lonely Planet, and seeking out the foreign version of hipsters and toilets. god help me.

i am so tired of learning from the internet, a book, a manual… i want someone to take  my hand and eyes and attention and show me, teach me. where are all the humans with hands that do more than type and click?