Second In Line

I can understand if I'm second in line. You're missing someone better and I'm the one who has to plug the gap that cannot be plugged. We're always happy with each other but the smiles hide the torment from the past. I can understand if I'm second in line because I could never replace them. I've seen that with how my life has been too many times before.

Lost friends, feelings and memories, the sense that nothing can be saved. We only make do because our perfectionism has destroyed us. I could fall in love with you and you with someone else that does not belong anymore. Or has disappeared. We're all Lord Lucans in disguise. It all adds to the drama and the slow destruction we build inside ourselves.

You and me as lovers, both holding hopes for all those that slipped through our fingers. The cracks in the sand, seperated by too many different lands. You let your honesty seep through in your words. Your secrecy gave us mystery and I would have guarded that until the end. All in all what makes you happy was always the desired target.

Our thoughts return to each other as that's all we've got. Bloodless romantics as every other person who crossed our paths have bled us dry. It's an idea, someday just to hold ourselves together to see if we still breathe. To stand here under the moonlight and never let go. In the end we are just the victims of our past. And how we all failed to make it last. But I'd never blame anyone.

The Hopeful Romantics

A new skin to hide my feelings in. Wear me well, you've got your stories to tell. I'm in your control. If all the remains of angst seep out onto the floor. Anguish, agony, tall tales. Last hope that conquers all, you wish yours arrived by train, plane or automobile.

She's in the car waiting by the doorway. She's standing by the fence. We're lazing by the grass and we're watching the sun go down. Time can disappear. Hours can travel. The hopeful romantics hoping they're lives can take a turn for the better when it might be for the worst. Again.

She's in the car waiting by the doorway. She's standing by the fence. We're lazing by the grass and we're watching the sun go down. Time can disappear. Hours can travel. The hopeful romantics hoping they're lives can take a turn for the better when it might be for the worst. Again.

Secondhand Emotion In The Thoughts

You're too introspective. You never try new things. Even trying old things with new people. It's so funny how you dismiss ignorance with ignorance. Hypocrisy is ideal. Nobody loves here and here you are in the window. Climbing in to get a contact on our details. Type for type, it's just another slight margin. You're at it again. I can hear you crawling to get a better view. A better angle to sell your story.

I feel like a secondhand emotion in the thoughts of your humanity. Just something disposable and it coming from you who hates being used. It's an outrageous set of circumstances. "I tend to judge and I'm always right." What a lucky star you must be. That shines through on everyone. Your presence is loved.

My Blood Transfusion

Pass me off with feeling. Nobody works with that element of suspense. A distortion I felt with evidence. I look for you in secrecy. Every sighting is a mini celebration for the mind. I would take heart if I had the key to your door. Just to lie down beside you and smell your perfume, even if it was just the smell of your own sweat.

I would get to know the corner of your house so well, which bell to ring and to walk those stairs seemed like a private godsend if I believed in such a thing. I used to be in love but now I'm obsessed with seeing you place me in your arms and even then I'm waiting.......like a puppet and his ventriloquist.

Every night I go sleepwalking to your house and you feed me strange dreams that lock me out. Place me with the zombies you used to love and I'll watch your new love have sex with you as a private audience. You look so pretty but I won't go near you. It's not part of the game. Remove every sense of dignity I may have had but pretend to love me so sweetly.

Crawling on all fours, but darling I'm not yours tonight. It's what you've always wanted and it's become a private fantasy to get two inches nearer. The rooms get wider and you and me grow further apart yet closer together. Inside my mind, I'll get so close to that I suck the blood you deliberately cut on your shoulder. Inside my mind, I'll play your car crash over and over.

I barely touch your body as you want your disease all to yourself. Sweetly fuck but never physically. The dreams you hide were never part of your brain. Blank heart screams from blank mind. Tore us all from humiliation to humiliation. A private skin you wore when the form had decided. You deceive me when every day I wake up, you've made love to me the night before while I was asleep. Not that you ever were there.

You never disappear. Every second is played out with precision. I'd call the phone number tonight and I'll realize you're not there anymore. And you've moved somewhere else. The mystery is gone. All you've left me with is a body that's half dead and a mind that refuses to stop thinking of you. That or you are my blood transfusion. I suppose that's what you do to all your former lovers.

Guidance Guidelines

It has it's own special way. Fallen charm. Discreet lies over the existence. Don't get caught in the tangled web of their past. Other people will arrive. They could be still alive. Your history is a source of interest. In emotional guidance you know you'll be there.

I look after the plants, you take care of the cats. We make up the days in silence and our secret dreams of escape are lived out at night. I fall into your arms for comfort. Cold or warm, it doesn't matter anymore. In emotional guidance you're all I have. And you're all I need.

Seems like a stubborn way to live but I need it all the same. You create the guidelines to reminisce of childhood memories. Create guidelines for the idea of escape. You and me in paradise. Staring into the night with a cast of shadows left from the past packed with the clichés of a thousand love stories that never come true.

Completes The Circle

Every step closer and I'm bending over backwards. Perhaps falling into the scene that I left six years before. This is the time and this is the place. There's no sense of deja vu. A fleeting hope but still I'm sure there's comfort to be had. In the silence of the alibi I held at the corner. And now the circle is complete?

The axis that we had driven has been dissimilar. I've been on cruise control and the sentiments of the past don't hold much anymore. It's all like a bizarre new dream. Can't control the remnants of the plot. Under the ground and make me dizzy, the contorted thoughts awaiting your arrival. The scenes play out too quickly and I'm left spinning. Plates of glass, tall at last. It's yours for a limited time only. We're all just walking adverts waiting to be bought or sold. Consumerist technology, place me here and navigate my existence. And now is the circle complete?

Sweeping my choice and placing these desires. Die hard mythology being lost into the design. The more people talk in the hope that they break from the past, the more they destroy the mystique that was created for a reason. It's not that they don't know, it's that they don't understand. Falling out inside between the rotten arches, I make way for you. This twisted branch can hold for the night. I might not have seen the end but I know where this is beginning. Hold on to the past as it holds the key to the future. Hold on to the past as it completes the circle.

Luring The Victim

It's called luring the victim. Tables turn. Drinks of coffee all round. Luring the victim for the price of pleasure which will turn into agony after a while. Catch the new disease. Spread the new disease. Feeling lonely tonight? Lure the victim with allure. It's got nothing to do with sex.

Luring the victim with your false eyelashes. Faked sympathy and blunt honesty. A winning mentality done with delicacy. We're all idols in the shadow of light. A promotional tool that you use all the time. But sure just look at the way you've grown to hate each other? And love? It's called boredom. You've got nothing better to do so you try to catch somebody else to share in your secret misery.

If I lure you in and give you all you want, you'll never be happy. You keep setting standards you'll never achieve. Keep striving for the perfectionist touch of type but those do not exist. And you do not exist in your mind. You only exist in the arms of someone else and you keep all the notes and the words that they said locked in your head. You'll remember all the times you made love and anyone else is just a substitute no matter how good they are. You're a sad state of affairs that love exists purely as a weapon and we're all blind to the gunshots that fire off in the distance. ( Shoot blanks? We'll keep that quiet until the next news bulletin! )

Lure the alluring, oh it's so good of you to think that it's an amazingly emotional experience that you have to reminisce about dead lovers while hanging out with the current aesthetic arm candy. You seek, you destroy......always check a man by his horoscopes. Always check a man by the shoes he wears. A facile law that works well. After a while the rules you set up turn on you and you cry off to your little night time dream.

You're scared of being attached, you're scared of those detached, sometime you'll die and you wonder why you wasted your life searching for love and responding to every question with the underlying implied context that a romantic date could appear in your dreams. Keep whingeing like a girl, because you'll read all the texts to crack the secret formula. We're so grown up in these days........last time I checked we all had the mental age of 7 years old.

Jim Jarmusch School of Cool

You've almost completely changed yet I still know your name. I feel somewhat betrayed that you smoke cigarettes now. What happened to change your mind. To keep up with the times in the legendary factor of cool? What does it matter anyway......lifestyles must be pretty stressful and a cigarette calms you more than coffee ever would. I feel somewhat stupid all the same. I keep missing the person I used to know. I keep missing the people I used to know. They've all changed but not to my liking. I'm not always the same but I'm not totally different. Just keep standing on that elliptical edge. You know I'm half crazy. That's why they call me Norman.

The cloak of the past and the trail we've left behind. So many people stretched out in the memory that it's hard to forget it all in an instant. What worth is it to be amnesiac? Since everyone is to some degree. I fell in love and you still retain respect but looking at you now the change is so big that it remains a mystery. But it's nice to know you retain the Jim Jarmusch school of cool. Who needs style when you've got cool. Face to face/visage á visage. We hardly talk anymore, how Scandinavian. I should write myself into an Aki Kaurismaki film. Allez les temps. La fenêtre est ton ami n'est pas moi plus. C'est triste mais j'ai un realiste et je voudrais le meilleur pour toi. Et heuresement si pour vous et n'est pas pour moi donc j'accepte. C'est écrit en les étoiles. Et á la fin mina rakastan sinua

I face the hour, I face the day. Still waiting for the countdown to cease to exist.