im just a boy with bad ideas

sometimes doors are closed to keep secrets out, not to keep them in

ive been thinking lots about people i shouldnt be
lets move away from their whispers and looks
and look at the world in a new way

long live our car crash hearts...

im sore throat singing through the curtain at you down the hall in the dark
youre sleeping or just a good actor
in my head this is the way we've always been
you turn me on like a switch and off like a faucet
me walking out dripping wet
trailing my finger nails against the posters on the walls
slipping back into whatever and being careful to shut the door so i dont wake anyone(you)
but you do wake up
in the bedroom you grew up in
its the only place on this entire planet that is yours(that i was yours)
in your bare skin, bare soul - it was the only place i understood you
it was the only way i ever understood you
it was the only place i ever scared you into shyness
it was the only way i could ever argue you into believing you were a hypocrite
and to treat your flaws like old friends

its funny how i came away from this empty handed
and i winced when i realized that i saw this from the start
especially when you only wanted me for me body and never for my mind and heart
you were just a watered down version of everyone else
like reading stephen king rehashed over and over again
it scared me for a second that maybe what i thought was salvation
from writing songs about heartbreak girls for scene boys to slit their wrists to,
was actually me transfroming into a trohy boy and you into my secrets girl
what scared me more though was to let down your expectations
to have you think that "he's(theyre) better at doing what i did best"...

more then anything i hoped that being in between your arms(lips and legs),
would be enough to remind you of my sincerity when i said
"its a coincidence that you look like her from a far"

iamthedream - youarethedreamer

i wrote this down at 4 in the morning
it didnt make sense then and it doesnt make sense now
but it does make sense to write it down at 4 a.m.

ive never felt so violated before
fighting my way past prying eyes and trying times
im making left turns at red lights
and lurking the interweb more often then usual
this rainy city winter under a stolen hoodie always looks the same...

its obvious im as cliche as "catcher in the rye" (but its the best there is)
i look back sometimes at the things i write and i want to throw it all away
but there will always be those days when it gets bad
and the words just fall off my tongue and fingertips
but when its at its worst, the words are contrite and unavoidably cliche
not that it matters but when posts start disappearing
its just me realizing that im just being overdramatic

i'm looking in mirrors and laughing cause im in on it...

60 degree weather,
out of season strawberries,
spring is overdue it in its arrival,
the (oh)baby blue sky is lacking in luster

girls rule the message board while boys try to hold onto the mike
broken promises have lost their meaning
and so have the random postings of makeout queens and princes of scene

i sat at a bohemian cafe wondering if everyone there was truly an intellectual
or maybe the pair of glasses worn half way down the nose
is a sign that maybe everyone is just as cliche as me(im as cliche as everyone else)

this day is dragging with no help
tedious...
unflinching...

dont make any sudden moves or you(i) might wake them(her)
from their nostalgic conversations about places theyve never been to

lack luster sky
rain
coffee shops
me(you)
her(them)
rainy city winter
catcher in the rye
a personality reminiscent of cut-out seventeen magzine articles

theyre(shes) all the same...

home...
home is where you make it
mine is the five inch spot on the small of her back
the safest place in the world to be...

she always smelled of sex and cigerettes

she'd be a pornstar but the camera is only incidental.
i love her more then pen and paper ever could
but only in increments of phrases and paragraphs
i put her picture in a frame and put it face down
on my desk so she could never escape me again

she bases her selfesteem solely on whether
she can make anonymous internet postings or not
everything seemd like a good thing to say
right before she clicks "submit" buttons
everything seems like a mistake afterwards

there was a time before all this started
when we were normal as we could possibly be
will it exist again?

will she remember my oneliners written on napkins
and passed across the table in the most posh restaurant
a place so exclusive we have life time memberships

she'd be a pornstar but the camera is only incidental
i love her but only in one hour incremements
i stare at the clock in the corner of the screen
and take relief that she's still awake like me...