AWA

In a Motel

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  • 2011.09.09
  • 3:50
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And so I left when I was just a boy. I swore I'd simply do it all over again. And now up the hill with snow-bit, blue-tipped fingers, blood from falling, but I can't go back there no more In frozen poses, venues lined with pillows, Atlas shouldered some silly blunder or other You ask for more than this, but I don't know what more than this is. Is it a motel, with a fashion magazine, in between towns? I was thinking about my mother and I wished ill upon myself. Rachel don't come around here no more. I hear she's living in Montana with her brother. I wish her the best, and I hope she can forget me. But the ghost that comes around is a dead-ringer for her. I see her in my nightmares, discussing modern literature with her hands around my neck in a motel with a fashion magazine in between towns. I was thinking about my mother and I wished ill upon myself.

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