Ok, here's a little something I wrote as it popped into my head. I don't know that I'm happy with it, but I thought I'd share. Hope you like it!

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Someone's knockin on my kitchen door
Leave the wood outside

Pale moonlight on the trees and I'm wondering just what the fuck is going on with me. I'm standing out here in the gods dammned cold air and breathing in cigarette smoke like it's my last night alive and there's a firing squad in the dark of the house that's going to fill me with lead as soon as I step into the shadows where I belong.

What all the girls here are freezing cold
Leave me with your Borneo

I look up at the moon and recall vaguely in my brain somewhere that in Western cultures the moon and women are linked somehow and I wonder about the whole'female/moon'thing. Which starts me thinking about the bamboo cutter story and what the hell is up with the world in the first place that we have to make up stories about other places instead of just dealing with what we got here at home?

I don't need much to keep me warm
Don't stop now what you're doing

Then again I'm a fine one to talk with all the shuffling through reality I'm likely to do on a daily basis.

Cold, chapped skin in the winter air and I rub at the dry spot just between my knuckles, wondering if it will tear the next time I use my wire; like paper or maybe the skin of an overripe tomato.

What you're doing my ugly one
Bring them all here

A rustle from the dark and I remember there's a woman without a face lying in my bed who is nothing like the moon or the light and never will be. It's like lying with snow in your bed you know, and there's no sense in trying to pretend it's a living, breathing thing that's going to love you back. That's one hell of a bed-time addiction.

Hard to hide a, a hundred girls in your hair
It won't be fair if I hate her

But it's the hardest one to drop yet and I don't want to as my gaze travels over eyes and lips, thighs and crotch that look the same as every other that has lain in that bed, carved of ivory. Always empty; always shiftless, always lifeless. I haven't seen the moon in a very long time and somehow I don't think I could again. To expose myself to that kind of purity is just asking for trouble I don't want.

If I ate her
You can go now

I keep them moving, one after another, so I don't hate them, so they don't hate me, so they don't hate each other, so I don't hate myself, so I don't hate you. They never keep still, you know, and their skeletons haunt my closet, hundreds of them, somehow unwilling to leave me to my solitude. Their empty eyes stare back at me from my face in the mirror sometimes, but I have ceased to fear it. Now I merely wait; staring passively, until it goes, and then there are my own eyes again; emptiest of all.

You're already in there
I'll be wearing your tattoo

It's all your fault you know. That light, that beauty that you held me in; warm and soft and real flesh. You loved and laughed and sang and cried. You yelled and jumped and scolded and giggled, and now you're gone and no one has done any of those things since. Did you want it that way? Didn't you know that I'm already wearing your brand? Haven't you seen it? I look at it everyday. Sometimes I don't have to and I can still feel it burning. It will never heal. I don't think you want it to. I don't think I want it to. I'm tired of changing. But you knew that, too.

You're already in there
Got a cloud sleeping on my tongue

You know they're beautiful. Even if they are cold. Hundreds of different little flowers that are open and waiting to draw me away from the truth; the light. They glow in the dark and sometimes I forget that there is anything brighter than a dull green luminescence. In that light, I never have to see anything except the flower that casts it.

He goes then it goes
And kiss the violets as they're waking up

But when the glow fades, I always remember. And I always come back. Somehow, your light is blinding; dark and yet brighter than the sun. It hurts me, but it fills me, and I need it like I need air and cigarettes. I need it while it slowly rots me from the inside out.

Leave me with your Borneo
Leave me the way I was before

Body shuddering, shirtless in the cold, I hug myself and start at the sharp bee's-sting of pain caused by an accidental slip of my cigarette. I'm trying hard not to hate you. I don't want to. I never wanted to, but in my desperation to keep you alive I'm forgetting why I wanted to in the first place. Maybe you wanted me to do that too.

You're already in there
I'll be wearing your tatoo

The cigarette is burning the filter and I throw it outside. I don't hear the hiss but I can imagine it as I watch it land on a greasy snow pile in the walkway below.

I'm already in circles and circles and circles again
The girl's in circles and circles got to stop spinning

I'm wondering if you hate me too.

I made you this way.

Because I can't let you go.

Circles and circles and circles again
Thought I was over the bridge now

Thought I was over the bridge now

When am I gonna learn?

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Oshimai

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And 'oshimai' means 'the end' .