Dear Doe Eyes

Remember the time:
clothing on the bedroom floor,
in the year you lost your faith in poetry
on January 24,
the angry teenage way you said
"Oh god I wish that I were dead,"
and the clinical way in which you washed yourself
before you came to bed.
And you said you'd like to kiss me,
and I felt your hair on my chest
as you leaned over to kiss me
and I was sad
and alone
so I let you kiss me.

Kitchen knife scars on your hips
nasty little parallel, red-rimmed lanes.
I must admit I was confused when you told me,
"Brendan, you've got a lot of heart,
but run a little short on brains."
And I find myself utterly repulsed at the thought
of your dirty slender frame,
but drawn back by your sadness and the way
you'd scream my name,
though not anymore.

And try to trace the moment when I let
my priorities stop being right,
and I wanted to be the guy who would do and say whatever
just to keep his bed warm that night.

But who do you think you are?
Just tell me who you think you are.
So I might
model myself in your image.
But who do you think you are,
to claim you'd save me,
and together we'll go out
go dancing in the bars?
But who do you think you are?

Home, Alone

This is the moment I know I'll miss you,
it's the moment I want to kiss you
when you're gone.

It's 9 o'clock on Friday night,
no friends, no family, no one else
to come along.

And I know where you are...
you're out with all your friends.
Guess I'll call it quits tonight
and go to bed.

The place where I grew up is nameless,
the people that I knew there faceless
animals in a zoo.

You whisper something about marriage
and requisite baby's carriage...
they remind me so much of you.

And I know it's not your fault
for being who you are.
Guess I'll call it quits tonight and sleep
inside my head.