A black bird singing on a black line
a broken back that begs to be set straight
a silent night of sin and niceness
nestled happily,
in bed, happy.
A black bird nesting on a telephone pole
tells his poor mother not to call
again, he’s doing fine. He’ll be alright.
Can’t even see him this black night,
this black bird, in this weak light,
can’t see right.
On this cracked streetlight can’t see right;
but somehow he’ll see his way home tonight.
Downbeat blackbird’s beaten down, but doesn’t dare to be
silent. Won’t stoop down to where he found
fortunes buried beneath the dirt,
won’t swoop down through the air
to the ground.
Silly bird sings noise songs.
Flutter through the air, fool bird
and land upon the ground.

I’m absolutely good enough for you

and you’re absolutely good enough for me.

You make me feel that way every time we’re together.

And that’s a way, way better love

than one that makes you feel like you’re not good enough.

I love you because of the incredible person you are

and I want to be with you because of the way you treat me.

Because I like getting to be nice to the person I love,

I like that I get to make you happy.

Because I want a partner to share my life with, not a rock to bash my head against.

Thank you.

Your kindness astonishes me every day.

Thank you.

The vanishing act’s up next
but the magician’s nowhere to be found.
He’s watching from the balcony.
He’s gonna stay put and make the world disappear.

The vanishing act’s up next
but this time Jesus has the upper hand.
There’s not a single cloud in this sky, which is to say
there’s not a single suicidal thought in my mind.
Oh death, where is your sting?
I’m not gonna listen to satan anymore.

The vanishing act’s up next
but my treasure’s not going anywhere.
My treasure’s in heaven, and my Isaac’s on earth.
My heart is in heaven and my treasure’s in my bed.

I gave up my riches but I had no faith
from the crow’s three caws until today, but
by the fire I heard a whispered word
sounding like a cymbal or a
ram’s horn
“He’s back,
and He’s coming back, and He’s back.”

The vanishing act’s up next
but this time it’s screwtape’s turn to disappear.
Come watch the show.
The dawn is here.

When I hear airplanes overhead
all I can think about is winding up dead in some bombing
so I tell them to fuck off, so far
they’ve always listened to me,
or maybe not.
When I feel some strange sensation
I’m sure that it’s the start of the infestation
that’s gonna take my body apart piece by piece, a thousand
bugs living in my head.
When I hear some sharp noise right outside, I wonder
if I’m brave enough to die fighting.
And when I hear voices in my mind
well, sometimes they’re the ones Abraham heard
but usually not,
just “you forgot to call your boss back
now it’s too late.”
But none of that holds a candle to the fear
that you might leave me soon, my dear,
if you find out what a neurotic fuck you’re dating.

Brain damage has a way of making the world fade
so the bricks in the wall are fuzzy,
so thoughts won’t spring to mind,
so you’re never quite awake.

It’s not exactly the same as alcohol,
but it’s close.
Controlling your body through a long tunnel
Watching yourself make
one decision a minute.

Watching yourself walk across the room
as you stay on the couch.

Like when you skip two nights in a row
cause the fire inside you just will not go out
long enough to close your eyes.

The sun rises as it sets. It’s up
and in minutes it sinks back down again.
No one sees you, hiding in your room. You
don’t believe in the future. No one
sees you , they wouldn’t care if you got better.

Like half a month in a cloud of cynicism so thick
you couldn’t be seen by God himself.

And walking through halls and down streets and up stairs
among the shadows of stupid ignorant people
who don’t understand and didn’t ask,
and you really wish they’d asked.
Are they imaginary,
or am I?

That is how I’ve felt for these five years
and they have passed in the time it takes
to say it doesn’t matter.

Freedom is the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Did my last real feelings freeze when the world did,
all but guilt and despair,
still waiting to be picked up where I dropped them off in high school?
Have I got five years of unread emails in a hidden folder somewhere?
Or do I just not have a self at all?

I’m going the wrong way
like a drunk on the highway.
Like granny thinks the country’s going down,
I’m coming down
with something deadly.
Like the Romans rolling into town too late
mere moments before the lead in the waterways
gets into their brains
I’m going down
like them buildings came down.
Don’t breathe the dust that I’ll kick up,
there’s no one there to save.