The jitters

February 5, 2011 at 9:12 pm
filed under music
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No one means what they say, and you can tell as clear as deep-sea fish: all internal organs and glowing eyes. “I’ve been good.” “I’ve been busy.” “I’ve realized my friend’s true intentions. Cut all ties.” “I’ve been doing ten thousand pushups a day.”

Plastic cube filled with pus that sits atop my supervisor’s desk, the feeling of ice on the inside of a wrist, always tired, need a nap. I have to make myself brush my teeth.

I’ve made a list of everything I’ve ever owned.

When the days bring nothing new, and the sound of laughter makes you sick inside, you know you’ve got the jitters.

Nothing’s wrong, I’m just fine, I’ve realized I just don’t like jokes.

I’m thinking of moving. I can’t call anyone back.

You can tell every time they lean away when you just want to talk, you couldn’t buy their interest now.

Stolen cars in a heap. A naked body on the neighbor’s yard.

When they let you down on cue, when you give up way before you even try, you know you’ve got the jitters.

They glow as they near, then disappear like highway signs on a starless night, and it’s so hard to say who’s being fled and who’s in flight.

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