Jejune

A green line across my forehead says I was never really king at all.
And all my friends fell out like rotting teeth.
My riches turned to dust, my kingdom crumbles and falls away.
But every face is a blossom of jejune praise.
I feel I'm learning more each day. I need to find my feet again.
And I know that all good things must pass, but the aching never fades away.

A pair of lenses fracture light across a map.
The places we've never been are Sharpied onto scotch tape on a coffee can.
You were crying in the kitchen, I was helping you breathe.
You were screaming at the floor boards "This place is not for me".
But now you're leaving. The damage is done.
You fold us into airplanes and throw us at the sun.

And I still feel sick when I sit still.
I watch you follow plot-lines,
how she'd tilt her head to show you that there was no condition
deserving of you.

Was I the wind between your palms?
Was she the slab that broke your fall?
Did you get my letters?

The green line across my forehead. Was I ever really here at all?
My efforts stretched like rubber bands, decayed.
We waltzed charades inside this abandoned apartment space
To the echoing promise made that "maybe one day..."

I'd like to take my name and burn it with my mattress and my books and my identity.
And I'd like to drive until I can't see the skylines.
Sometimes I feel so stuck in propulsion, my feet are still in motion but my head is fucking frozen.
So I'm leaving. The damage is done.
My love is unconditional, But I'm in no condition to love.

Now I've found something to write about. This is the letting go for hope in jejune bloom.
If I told you that when you left I was discolored and frayed, would you lend me your hue and wax?

(Trace your mind back to a time where headstones were headlines and your name pooled sweet on our tongues.)

And if I showed you, through verb and tax that I had learned to let go,
If I could go back, I'd say that you were right.
You're right. You're right.