skech185 & analog(ue) tape dispenser – tree in frame lyrics
[verse 1: lana simpson]
she said she would protect you
from your nightmares
but it takes present
arms to rock away
the demons
clawing from under your bed
and they’ve come back
back to replace every body
of a teddy bear
every vice between finger
you still remember
how her hair feels
nose buried in the back of head
you still remember the smell
of sleep filling the room
you’ve forgotten
how it feels to sleep
[without her.]
it’s all a set
just a pillow lain on bed
under head;
body on mattress
under cover –
mirroring the warmth
you fear
you’ll never find again
[verse 2: skech185]
i’m harvesting silver linings
with the same hands that strangled “hangman” dating
tattooed in the a thousand deaths in silence
and yes this is your painting
i learned to smile years after it could’ve blocked a gray cloud daze
amazed at how the sun hits the corner of my eye
and dies every time i turn to side
unflinching as lightening strikes
but proved to be a fat lady with a scale in her hand
that forgot to pay me attention
blind to the man-made mountain on which i stand
pregnant with bad dealings, so my 40 acres is walking away
parallel to walking that became that very h-ll the walking arranged
bell rings. hearts barking to stray but feet are too dumb
to acknowledge what the barking is saying
so i’m slain public on this carousel
can i borrow a cup of tea?
’cause mine f-cks with me through gl-ss and pants
i’m ready to start a revolution, got a rock and a window
but too stenographer to smash the glance
and if i had a penny for every… i’d bury the every within me
cough up enough for double cheese burgers and murder every vag thats friendly
happiness offends me… in its absinthe-acid-crack-hit madness that matches everything i say just to partially k!ll me
but leaves a vapor trail that makes my d-ck hard
but that’s disney in the city, in the sh-tty inner city in a sense
it doesn’t crack
don’t look at me like i think the world was flat
it became a badge of honor to chase fleeting breaths
foolish as it is, i was in lockstep with the vapor
as if to catch it would make a solid string attached to whats left
but it doesn’t so i cater to an all consuming photograph
blind eye turned to the shadow behind the aura – animate collage
she’s scr-p book beautiful but her worlds rotoscope at most i hold
a script where; our hero dies in her arms and the almost is perfect
and “perfect” is the almost doesn’t matter and that manner shapes its host
one day i’ll find the secret of silence, master the handling of palms… fingertips
producing vibratos to calm the theory of muted ghost lingering
see part of me hopes the truth is hidden within the gaps in her t–th
leaked through sighs as whispers to bridge this distance or further justify this sentence
oh, what have i invented now? eyes roll. horizon darken
and maybe we’re mere marionettes to stars plotting. the hand slips away
“such a shy object.” cameras pan. chromatics shift to gray
pyrrhic victory, in its joyous smile. “f words” flower
who knew a question mark could fix the day?
or maybe our heroes song is wrong, then again we don’t see the world spinning
perhaps by the time its on we’re gone
depend on whose pen sits in a sentence can be a prison
flipped coin to a how a breath could be an eternity he lives in
flippant at any evidence of an insincere instance
victim of self imposed living through guess work
knowing the answer and it often fits so coffin to the heart strings skech “works”
all thats left is a face to scared to state the obvious or settled in something with less worth
to our anti hero: replaying a series of unfortunate events that mimic love
whose only smelled its scent upon thoughtless phrases
said sparingly randomly i hope you have a happy life… f-ck you
[verse 3: lana simpson]
i’ve noticed that you never sleep
hands pressed
in the same place her fingers
used to meet yours
you still rest
with your phone
clasped in palm –
guarding the message
you wish would come
the message that’s still saved
locked
into memory
indented deeper
than your restless body
laying languid
in the darkness –
wondering how
time could fill so much sp-ce
and then you turn over
on your side
so that your heart is less
exposed
to the elements;
to the ceiling
that could come crashing down
at any moment
and you probably wouldn’t feel a thing
but the ooze of memories
seeping from your arteries
you tried so hard
to keep the air out
of your veins;
but to no avail
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