Dim Recollections of Musty Attitudes

I was looking and deleting around in Word and I found this. I read it like I had never seen it before in my life and began to analyze what the lines really meant before realizing that sans recollection, I must have been the author:



I squirted soap in my eye
When you said what you did
And later, I shut my hand in the front door.

My scabs won’t heal
‘Cause I’ve been picking this apart
Over and over and after the end.

I wouldn’t miss the chance to be here though,
When your face looks at me that way;
When you realize you didn’t plan for this.

I can’t stand to think that this is the way
It was meant to be
When you walked a block for every month you have hidden this from me.

Tell me:

Do you remember that time?
The time when we sat all pent up with
The brink of that summer bleeding from the walls of that little blue bedroom
And the truths that lived in that song.
The one that you played and I breathed.

Do you even keep the time?
The time when we felt that night wouldn’t stop
Like the beats of those hearts we had back then
I cut myself off from the lines that you gave
With your cheap ass emoticons
About your failure to stay.



I punched my wall
When you said what you did
Then felt hopeless and punched out my card instead

I squirted soap in my eye
And threw a spoon at the wall
I spread jam on burnt toast and then just threw it away.
I put the cat in the cupboard and drew up a light
And smoked the 27 times you said goodbye.

I find it hard to believe
That I’ve done something wrong
And I’m fairly certain that this is all your fault
Because if you just had listened, dear
To all the words I couldn’t say,
Then you would have know not to call
When you said what you did,
Making me fall in love with you over again.




Ricky.
"In Brooklyn" -This Condition, the acoustic version