PUT YOUR HANDS UP (for Detroit)
Put your hands up 'cause I told you to
-------------
I put my hands up, 'cause I'm a single lady
But with hands up I can't hug myself
And I just want to feel some arms
And so this gun will keep me warm
Happiness, is a warm gun
Shooting them / release I need
My bullets tear through flesh
Like your words tore through my soul
I'm not alone when surrounded by bodies
You can't leave me if you're dead
-------------
You get a little kinky
Handcuffs around my wrists
You're rough (you know I like it)
You play cop and I'll play me
Showing posts with label stories inspired by song. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories inspired by song. Show all posts
Friday, October 22, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Cup of Joe
They say that pot is a gate-way drug, but you never hear people warning about caffeine.
Suddenly you're alert and your head has never felt so alive before.
You can do it all. You can clean and think and dream and run and dance and do homework and take it all on you are super! You can do it all! It's amazing and magical and less than $2!
Until the crash, and you're falling... falling asleep. You feel so tired and you need it again. Give me the coffee, I'm jones-ing for it. I don't need it I just really really want it.
Uppers were the next logical step.
Coffee stains your teeth and really it's not as convenient as a few little pills. Let's start with adderall and pseduo-ephedrine. They're easily procured, not illegal, and really ease you into the flighty high that feels so. damn. good.
Everything is still moving very very quickly. It's great - you're getting so much done! And nothing seems crazy important like it used to. When it's time to sleep ('cause let's be realistic - you have to sleep eventually) all it takes is a few shots of vodka (it tastes so clean). Food is no longer necessary for energy.
Ecstasy is just another pill.
It's great when you have time for, well, everything! It feels really good when you have your pills, and that girl from that party shared her coke with you and that felt pretty fucking good too. It's not as easy to get as the pills, but it works twice as well.
Life starts moving really quickly, like when you're on the merry-go-round at a kid's playground and it's spinning really, really quickly and any second you're going to fall off but for now you're hanging on and it feels really, really good (even though you might get sick any second now).
You don't think about inconsequential things anymore. It doesn't matter. You used to care about what people thought or how you looked but now all that matters is that you're awake! And that you have a pocket full of pills. You could quit, but what's the point? You feel happy for once. Things feel good.
What does it matter that it's artificial? Everything is artificial these days.
(Including happiness).
Suddenly you're alert and your head has never felt so alive before.
You can do it all. You can clean and think and dream and run and dance and do homework and take it all on you are super! You can do it all! It's amazing and magical and less than $2!
Until the crash, and you're falling... falling asleep. You feel so tired and you need it again. Give me the coffee, I'm jones-ing for it. I don't need it I just really really want it.
Uppers were the next logical step.
Coffee stains your teeth and really it's not as convenient as a few little pills. Let's start with adderall and pseduo-ephedrine. They're easily procured, not illegal, and really ease you into the flighty high that feels so. damn. good.
Everything is still moving very very quickly. It's great - you're getting so much done! And nothing seems crazy important like it used to. When it's time to sleep ('cause let's be realistic - you have to sleep eventually) all it takes is a few shots of vodka (it tastes so clean). Food is no longer necessary for energy.
Ecstasy is just another pill.
It's great when you have time for, well, everything! It feels really good when you have your pills, and that girl from that party shared her coke with you and that felt pretty fucking good too. It's not as easy to get as the pills, but it works twice as well.
Life starts moving really quickly, like when you're on the merry-go-round at a kid's playground and it's spinning really, really quickly and any second you're going to fall off but for now you're hanging on and it feels really, really good (even though you might get sick any second now).
You don't think about inconsequential things anymore. It doesn't matter. You used to care about what people thought or how you looked but now all that matters is that you're awake! And that you have a pocket full of pills. You could quit, but what's the point? You feel happy for once. Things feel good.
What does it matter that it's artificial? Everything is artificial these days.
(Including happiness).
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Value vs. Worth vs. Cost
Shoving handfuls of paper bills into your pockets you yelled at me to hurry up. Scrambling in my room, picking things up and putting them down again drowning in indecision, unable to decide what I truly needed - I hated you for making me rush. Do I bring the stuffed elephant from my mother or the rugby trophy from 2003? Maybe just my toothbrush. It's hard to decide what's truly important when your life gets turned upside down.
You were a ball of fire, perspiring and running around destroying everything you touched in your hurry. Your speed made me want to stop, slow down, as though you were sucking your velocity out of me and thus rendering me absolutely completely stationary.
I didn't want to leave. I didn't care. But you dragged me out, despite my pleas and tears you dragged me as gently as you could (but forcefully) and took me into the beat-up van you bought from Mr. Thindley down the road. I sat in the passenger seat (you buckled me up) bawling into my hands as you got in front of the wheel and eased the ugly vehicle onto the road.
Three hours later I was silent. Not numb but buzzing and still. My mouth was dry and there was no point to words anyways. The mental inventory in my head (things I could've, should've, would've taken) was driving me absolutely crazy. Clutching the side of the car gave me the illusion that I was holding on to something, that I had kept something after all.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I couldn't leave, you know I couldn't. You tried to make it work, to help us to a new life, but you were so blind - the money never mattered to me like it did to you. Going 150 down the highway I glanced at you briefly before swiftly unbuckling, wrenching the door open, and vaulting myself out of the van.
It's funny how often we lose sight of what's important.
You were a ball of fire, perspiring and running around destroying everything you touched in your hurry. Your speed made me want to stop, slow down, as though you were sucking your velocity out of me and thus rendering me absolutely completely stationary.
I didn't want to leave. I didn't care. But you dragged me out, despite my pleas and tears you dragged me as gently as you could (but forcefully) and took me into the beat-up van you bought from Mr. Thindley down the road. I sat in the passenger seat (you buckled me up) bawling into my hands as you got in front of the wheel and eased the ugly vehicle onto the road.
Three hours later I was silent. Not numb but buzzing and still. My mouth was dry and there was no point to words anyways. The mental inventory in my head (things I could've, should've, would've taken) was driving me absolutely crazy. Clutching the side of the car gave me the illusion that I was holding on to something, that I had kept something after all.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I couldn't leave, you know I couldn't. You tried to make it work, to help us to a new life, but you were so blind - the money never mattered to me like it did to you. Going 150 down the highway I glanced at you briefly before swiftly unbuckling, wrenching the door open, and vaulting myself out of the van.
It's funny how often we lose sight of what's important.
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