here it is as performed by myself and Ryan Morse on guitar in my bedroom, some time in the A.M.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=V9mRtDgnAjE


and the poem in text format:


[Enter: The Lucid Lush]

I had this
one talent,
but I put all of it to waste.
An artist
that started
to enjoy the after taste.

Worn out knees
on jeans.
They've seen better days;
now flowing from structured thighs
mimicking bar stool legs.
Dangling,
toes playing with the idea
of resting on the floor
never quite deciding
but compulsively tapping to a 4/4.
Elbows finding refuge above this tattered fabric,
slightly stirred by the beat,
enough to jostle the loosely held drink.
Spilling
Splashing
drops of scotch-
drowning out the gutter based mind
but quenching it's most perverse of thoughts.
Shoulders sinking!
Seems there's a whole in the ship.
Unable to understand
a waitress avoiding these extra tips.
Making connections between your best friend and ex.
Strangers are sharing innermost thoughts,
your brow sharing where hair and sweat intersect.

'Check please.'

Head rises from bar,
feet plant firmly beside the stool,
shoulders up and out,
the ambiance has lost it's allure
for the time being,
but "I'll be seeing YOU tomorrow!"
Picked up my drink,
took a swig and followed.


Well, I woke to these faded colors.
And I remember telling her that I loved her,
but that wasnt so.
And I woke
to these faded colors.
With her make-up smudged on covers.
And I remember telling her that I loved her,
but that wasn't so long ago.
No.
Not very long ago.

[The words just dribbled out like her spit on a pillow.
It all seemed so appropriate.]

An animal by design
or was I designed by an animal?
Animated mating making me more of a man
than I ever thought possible.
Removable emotions motivating
this poker face,
programmed to grab the bag before bailing the space
called "guys night out"; another bullshit escape.
Landscaping and scraping away taste buds with whiskey.
His keys were on the bar-
barnyard behavior not suitable for car.
A girl dancing on the floor cuz the table was just too damned far.
Who are the animals?
The ones with thoughts that are cannibal
or those whose evil actions are tangible?
Managing to attack the pack,
the last of the pride; back to back.
Acting out final words.
Primal worlds clash,
ashes to ashes,
and Phoenix needs his penis
to put out the flame.
Pointing fingers to appoint blame.
Lamenting mental Les Miserable.
Serrated blade lobbed off
and popped off
the cap to the Popov vodka;
a mock up of feugo agua-
in all reality,
just another social faux paux.
Awkward silence of the year award goes to
that lush at the end of the bar,
to whom it was supposed to.
Well, I'd like to thank myself
for avoiding a void-less existence
insisting that "I'll tell you when i've'ada'nuff"
YES I'VE HAD ENOUGH!!!

Black out to a neon glow
and a song I wrote playing on the stereo.
I remember once asking her not to leave,
or so I'd like to think.

Black out to a neon glow
and a song I wrote playing on the stereo.
I remember once asking her not to leave,
or so I'd love to think.
Yes, I'd love to think.
Oh, I'd
love to think?

[The following morning.
Realization sets in
along side a hang-over.]

Yeah, I was there.
Laying face up,
making up realities where
I wasn't surrounded with failed attempts.
In reasonable defense,
they were only half-smoked, broke cigarettes.
I'm caressing the lipstick
stuck on the top sheet-
still sticky,
mocking me like,
"Hey, I'm gonna crash here."
as if coercion was even an option.
We talked about it,
well,
I mean, one could have imagined her argument.
That pre-dawn light snuck in
unwelcome
but seldom offered
a solution to my fear of the dark-
that one where I've found my finish
but have misplaced the start
to all of this.
Marvelous, how selective the memory can be,
forgetting friends and forging enemies
then
forgiving them for blasphemy.
Saving the last shame
till I can accurately aim
and pull the trigger;
really just my Sigur Ros CD
and bowl of rocky road.
Thoughts corroding
back the moment when this all began;
lit cigs,
glistening sweat,
post sex, hand in hand.
We were bedside comediennes,
And I'll be damned if didn't she love me then.
Such highs and lows,
but the holes
in the ceiling panels
have served no purpose in months,
well, possibly once.
I was drunk,
she had followed me home from the bar,
both fumbled with belt buckles
then stumbled into bed laughing.
Gasping for air at intermission
red lips leaving their prints
I just couldn't resist!
Gripping backs for traction
but that was the last rapture-
last night.
That much I know for sure.
Just another fucked up form of closure for her.
It's now morning
and I'm courting a cosmetic stain
in plain daylight.
On the bed stand, A WEDDING INVITE!!!
depicting a very familiar face.
Just like she needed one last taste of me,
soon,
I'm going to pick up that bottle and
soon,
I'll be the lush that she so fell in love with
soon,
I'll give it all up
sooner or later
for another version of her.
Burned out and obscured
in a half-smoked high.
eating ice cream
and
listening to Explosions in the Sky.

Asking myself
"Did last night really happen!?"
OH I'LL TELL YOU WHEN I'VEAD'ENUFFF!!!

I woke
to faded colors
and her make-up smudged on covers.
I remember
telling her that I loved her,
but that wasn't so
long ago.
No that wasn't so
long ago.

11/07/2007

Author's Note: I would really like if the community here checked out the recorded version. thank you.

Posted on 11/07/2007
Copyright © 2010 Nickolas Crosby