iLoveYouWithaKnife
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2002
- Messages
- 8,351
It all becomes the same boring routine-
The mint green walls that line the stairs
to your upstairs office
make you want to throw up-
just as much as the annoying
low hum of the incandescent lighting,
that drowns out the sound
of the crickety old stairs that
squeek with every inch closer
to your fucking computer
and office chair.
And after work,
it's the same fucking people
you see in the bar-
the ones who would twist
that goddamn knife more and more.
But even they gave up
because it's no good when you
can't feel feelings any longer.
Why would they continue to
waste their time
making you hurt,
when you couldn't possibly
hurt any longer.
People that surround you-
Oh, so nice to your face.
And as they stare at themselves
in the mirror, while they doll themselves up-
they thing of ways to make
themselves more appealling,
while more appalling at the same time.
That's what they don't realize.
You visit that place where
everyone used to know your name-
and they knew that horrible story;
the one you told about that
stupid fucking guy.
Day by day it unfolded-
and the way you told it-
made it seem
like you fell completely apart.
But that's the trick to writing,
in my eyes anyway.
The mint green walls that line the stairs
to your upstairs office
make you want to throw up-
just as much as the annoying
low hum of the incandescent lighting,
that drowns out the sound
of the crickety old stairs that
squeek with every inch closer
to your fucking computer
and office chair.
And after work,
it's the same fucking people
you see in the bar-
the ones who would twist
that goddamn knife more and more.
But even they gave up
because it's no good when you
can't feel feelings any longer.
Why would they continue to
waste their time
making you hurt,
when you couldn't possibly
hurt any longer.
People that surround you-
Oh, so nice to your face.
And as they stare at themselves
in the mirror, while they doll themselves up-
they thing of ways to make
themselves more appealling,
while more appalling at the same time.
That's what they don't realize.
You visit that place where
everyone used to know your name-
and they knew that horrible story;
the one you told about that
stupid fucking guy.
Day by day it unfolded-
and the way you told it-
made it seem
like you fell completely apart.
But that's the trick to writing,
in my eyes anyway.
