1. |
Rat Park
03:23
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I've changed for good at least so far. I found the lonely part of everyone in caves of soot beneath rat park like their fires were a setting sun. Circled by red rosary teeth. Laughing like that shit is dead to me. Still coughing up these eulogies for all the people we can never be again. Square one smile like a clean slate bleach burn. Staring at the sun like it's never gonna return. Tell me i'm okay. Just a penny for the thoughtless. Everyone is afraid. They're just hoping for a plot twist. I never changed or made amends. I just Slept beneath an evergreen. Losing my center as it bends to what I couldn't be at 17. Still doused in smoke and mirrors to breathe. I'm a liar like I'll always be. Still coughing up these eulogies for all the people that I've never really been.
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2. |
Grapevine
04:03
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He writes his name 100 times. Still feels the same at 99. Left out for all to see in daylight. That bed of nails. That flipped "if all you have is..." Distrust feeds another mess of sound. In just deep enough to call it wine. Fermenting gardens through the grapevine. That knee-jerk crutch. That self-shot foot you put down. Patching broken glass. I'd rather have a hammer. Burning down what's built here just to feel cold.
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3. |
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Everything passes except repeating patterns. Surgery needs light but sometimes light reopens wounds. Everything passes except before it hasn't yet. Spinning in the moment that was supposed to save you. Like digging for sunlight in a burning room. Like a book of ciphers trying to rewrite it's self into bloom. Everything passes except repeating patterns. A sermon on the plastic wings of paper over rust. Everything passes except before it hasn't yet. Hide in the behaviors that are supposed to save us. Everything passes except repeating patterns...
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4. |
Small Talk
02:15
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Face of fickle small talk born like a mass of flies in dead air. Days drip down the walls before the past decides to blur them. Maybe it's the coffee that's been acting like my stomach but a subtle something is coming over me again. Light from her last words like a seed I thought I lost. I'm running backwards to paper hearts and soiled skies. Reflexive entertainment? Regression or rebuilding? Do I even know the difference? Laughing on the highway. Something I can't poison. Caught up in motion again.
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Indigo Smith Oles Madison, Wisconsin
The fruit of rumination and run-of-the-mill escapism.
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