Failure is always an option.

The duty of trying hard and believing what you're doing is right is failure.
If you're happy let the cannonballs fly.
If you're sad, let the cannonballs land.

If you're a cannon you have a good job -you fire and people fall.
If you're a cannonball you'll only be a heart breaker.

I've tried to walk away from all of this; the dependency, the doubt, the rush, the prison of one's mind, the fascination with women that are unreachable even if you stand on the tip of your toes and tongue.

I am just an old ivory key to some grand piano, smashed years ago from the hands of a dying wet dream.

Misery loves company they say.
I say, "would you like to come over?"

You win, with your bruises and your hot mouth.

I win with my inability to ejaculate.

Lonely song, lonely.

I'm tired, and tight, and behaving like a broken limb.

My heart is on fire with the thought of you taking me all the way.

The smell of cancer on my breath and fingers.

Do you love me this way?
Will you be a forever mystery?
Will you lift me from the guillotine before the head rolls?
Will you put me back together if the guillotine falls?

These are questions I'd like to ask you, but I'm never fucked up enough to word it right.
My brain runs away when I'm with you, I only act on instinct and simple math.

My dick throbs my mouth gets dry, and I want to fucking marry you.

I want to take care of you, and live in that small world where being a fuck-up and a fool without a college education will keep you lubricated and ready for whatever we fall into.

I sit here in my 80 dollar chair, and my 60 dollar purple corduroy pants with 600 dollars of pigment covering my body.

Can we be young?