| In my mind you are going to see him you are on I-10 you are driving you are driving to see him to see him and be his weekend fuck. And as you drive you are listening to the cd I made for you, that I gave to you today for which you told me how sweet I was. As I write this I might as well be stabbing the pencil through my palm, spreading my arms outward, a notebook attached to each, looking heavenward. I want to be your saviour and I get off on the crucifixion. But I hate to hear the nice-guy-best-friend martyr drill from anyone else (why do women always claim to want the nice guy but date the jerk?) perhaps because I feel I invented this goddamn tired petulant whine and I have the keen insight that it's all bullshit. There are no nice guys there are only different forms of emotional disorder. This nice guy who has the self-esteem of a dead fallen leaf and can only survive by clinging slothlike to the upside-down notion that he is right on the inside and that everyone else is fucked-up and this is why he is alone and if they could only see if they could only see if they could only see then someone would love him and fill the gap he cannot cross himself. I know this martyrdom well, I have worn its ring for years. And though I see its self-fellating folly and though I call it bullshit I still come on a ladder to its window, saying "I just want to hold you, just hold you tonight. And that's all." And so in my mind in my mind In my mind you begin to cry I can't let you be cuz your beauty won't allow me wrapped in white sheets like an angel from a bedtime story. Mark Kozelek wrote it and Mark Kozelek sings it but you know that it might as well be coming straight from my voice, telling our story, the night I was hopelessly wrapped in white sheets, wrapped in you, wrapped in your white sheets. Your back to me as you guided my hand over your body "But... but I want to kiss you," I whispered. "I know you do," was your answer. This is the closest I would ever be to you, little more than a convenient device. Hating myself more for somehow loving this unbearable cold. Have you forgotten how to love yourself? In my mind you are turning the car around. In my mind you are crying, you are crying and turning the car around. "Please kiss me," I whisper "please, please kiss me." Let this be what my paradigm demands Let this be anything other than what it is. In my mind you are driving back to me In my mind you have heard what is in the music that I wanted you to hear. In my mind In my mind you want me to love you. I stretch my arms out wider-- Why have I been forsaken? Because it is bullshit. "Why do women date jerks?" First answer "Why am I writing this poem for you?" This is my complex This is my hypocrisy This is my projection In my mind I am cradling you tonight but I can't sleep. I can't sleep. |
| CD Mix, September 2002 |
| by Kevin S. McFadden |