The body wash in the shower left by another woman //
After a night together she washed off in his shower and used the body wash she found there.
Their love was like two electric guitars raging.
She is the one who turns people into lunatics by studding their hands with rings and hanging pearls to dangle in front of their faces.
Purple nails, hard purple nails. He wished they were pink. But when she painted them pink he wished they were blue...even though he told himself he hated blue fingernails.
He painted his nails with a racing stripe and ran down the hallway in the night.
They talked about the universe and found out everything about each other and nothing about the cosmos.
He hated it when women ate corn. Peas were ok, but corn wasn't.
In the field behind his house a group of rats met in private to discuss the state of cheese.
When everyone convinced them they were wrong they walked away to see another day.
I tell myself I should've sold out more to those agents when I had them, but I know I was right, and I had no choice.
I had no choice.
They say there is always a choice.
I had no choice said the woman with three small children.
I had no chance said the starlet who bought the fake nails with money she won at a game no one wins at.
I don't wear fake nails thought the woman who was won't to be appreciated in a way she could use to be ok.
The damaged wilted flower didn't make the impression she had wanted to make.
She wondered if it was the water with the slice of orange that got her or the wedges.
Later she thought the two wedges were her wedges and that was why she was punished.
The world told her to stay still and tap the keys, and pick up the paint brushes, and handle the knitting needles, and move her body from place to place.
The race was built up as a fantastical opportunity for some kind of silent glory...a glory the runner who carried it didn't own, but wore on her jersey.
It was her number, it wasn't her speed, it was the machine that surrounded her that made it that way.
It was that fact that so much changed when she walked in the door.
And the people who saw her and served her who were questioned, whose jaws hit the floor.
"It seemed like she was in a hurry to catch her flight. I think she left a better tip, because she needed to be fast. But it seemed like she didn't have a lot of money. I would say she's 28."
"I would say 29."
"32 is about right."
"In this picture she looks older, look at her face."
Give me break, said the woman with the painted face.
I won't give you what you want, she thought to herself. I have my agenda and now I have my health.
If you cheat then you'll scratch. It doesn't count if you do it that way. You'll get pulled back. You know it inside and yet you still make the choice like it's the answer to your voice.
When I was younger I had ambitions and I wanted to make a mark.
Now I'm older and the marks I made weren't what I wanted. May I erase the marks and move on like it never occurred?
Would all the money in the world protect me from pain and suffering?
Your suffering is part of it and you know that well.
You are a young soul, I can tell.
If you only knew what was really going on in my head. I try to tell you, but you take it and make a fictional account.
Your fictional accounts are ruling the world. I'm sure I've fed off them too. So I cannot put that down.
I don't pay much attention and for that some people want me to pay.
When I disclose everything at the very first, their worst fears are realized.
When I come in quiet and shrewd but not as mysterious as they thought they ache to know more.
I hear them breathing at my door.
You cannot pass my threshold without an invitation and for those who do I do not condone what could happen to you.
I have a story, I'm sure you do too.
Mine consists of so many people, so many faces, so many moments.
The way someone's face looked in the wind at the shore. The way he nodded, the way he asked for more.
My day consists of me running or moving toward my destiny and the closer I get the more I have to lose.
My hair is no longer a topic of choice.
Nor is my demeanor.
But yes, there's some talk of my voice.
I purred at a couple people with a deep velvety tone.
I looked askance at you a couple times, because I couldn't believe what was happening to you.
The fluctuations in your demeanor made me more and more nervous.
The sink is broken what the hell is wrong with you?
I never said I couldn't do it, but I didn't exactly agree.
If that's what you take as proof positive there's something I need you to see.
Look in the corner by where the old painting you hated and hid stood, behind it is something you missed.
Get a pair of gloves on and clean it up.
Now go in your room and turn out the light.
There's a tiny light blinking outside that's how you get your free ride.
Goodnight people, goodnight life forms, good night entities, goodnight all...
I'll be seeing more of you this coming fall.
Their love was like two electric guitars raging.
She is the one who turns people into lunatics by studding their hands with rings and hanging pearls to dangle in front of their faces.
Purple nails, hard purple nails. He wished they were pink. But when she painted them pink he wished they were blue...even though he told himself he hated blue fingernails.
He painted his nails with a racing stripe and ran down the hallway in the night.
They talked about the universe and found out everything about each other and nothing about the cosmos.
He hated it when women ate corn. Peas were ok, but corn wasn't.
In the field behind his house a group of rats met in private to discuss the state of cheese.
When everyone convinced them they were wrong they walked away to see another day.
I tell myself I should've sold out more to those agents when I had them, but I know I was right, and I had no choice.
I had no choice.
They say there is always a choice.
I had no choice said the woman with three small children.
I had no chance said the starlet who bought the fake nails with money she won at a game no one wins at.
I don't wear fake nails thought the woman who was won't to be appreciated in a way she could use to be ok.
The damaged wilted flower didn't make the impression she had wanted to make.
She wondered if it was the water with the slice of orange that got her or the wedges.
Later she thought the two wedges were her wedges and that was why she was punished.
The world told her to stay still and tap the keys, and pick up the paint brushes, and handle the knitting needles, and move her body from place to place.
The race was built up as a fantastical opportunity for some kind of silent glory...a glory the runner who carried it didn't own, but wore on her jersey.
It was her number, it wasn't her speed, it was the machine that surrounded her that made it that way.
It was that fact that so much changed when she walked in the door.
And the people who saw her and served her who were questioned, whose jaws hit the floor.
"It seemed like she was in a hurry to catch her flight. I think she left a better tip, because she needed to be fast. But it seemed like she didn't have a lot of money. I would say she's 28."
"I would say 29."
"32 is about right."
"In this picture she looks older, look at her face."
Give me break, said the woman with the painted face.
I won't give you what you want, she thought to herself. I have my agenda and now I have my health.
If you cheat then you'll scratch. It doesn't count if you do it that way. You'll get pulled back. You know it inside and yet you still make the choice like it's the answer to your voice.
When I was younger I had ambitions and I wanted to make a mark.
Now I'm older and the marks I made weren't what I wanted. May I erase the marks and move on like it never occurred?
Would all the money in the world protect me from pain and suffering?
Your suffering is part of it and you know that well.
You are a young soul, I can tell.
If you only knew what was really going on in my head. I try to tell you, but you take it and make a fictional account.
Your fictional accounts are ruling the world. I'm sure I've fed off them too. So I cannot put that down.
I don't pay much attention and for that some people want me to pay.
When I disclose everything at the very first, their worst fears are realized.
When I come in quiet and shrewd but not as mysterious as they thought they ache to know more.
I hear them breathing at my door.
You cannot pass my threshold without an invitation and for those who do I do not condone what could happen to you.
I have a story, I'm sure you do too.
Mine consists of so many people, so many faces, so many moments.
The way someone's face looked in the wind at the shore. The way he nodded, the way he asked for more.
My day consists of me running or moving toward my destiny and the closer I get the more I have to lose.
My hair is no longer a topic of choice.
Nor is my demeanor.
But yes, there's some talk of my voice.
I purred at a couple people with a deep velvety tone.
I looked askance at you a couple times, because I couldn't believe what was happening to you.
The fluctuations in your demeanor made me more and more nervous.
The sink is broken what the hell is wrong with you?
I never said I couldn't do it, but I didn't exactly agree.
If that's what you take as proof positive there's something I need you to see.
Look in the corner by where the old painting you hated and hid stood, behind it is something you missed.
Get a pair of gloves on and clean it up.
Now go in your room and turn out the light.
There's a tiny light blinking outside that's how you get your free ride.
Goodnight people, goodnight life forms, good night entities, goodnight all...
I'll be seeing more of you this coming fall.
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