I hate your corner store apologies.
You think you're so fucking clever,
getting off the 9:30 train with
lipstick on your collar and having a
rose-red packaged "sorry, baby" the next day.
I grab the keys I want to throw at
your lying face, your turned head,
leave the apartment that reeks of your apologies
and try to find some peace I won't be paying for three years from now.
You can buy anything, if you take out a loan on your soul.
I grip the steering wheel, passing ads from beauty in a bottle,
hit Heart Attack road, with its concentration of fast food and faster deaths.
No peace for me, no, just more packaged apologies
for the wayward man.
"Diamonds are Forever," the ads say.
They say nothing about fidelity.
"You can never say sorry too much," they say.
Evevn though the words lose meaning each time?
They say, "It's the thought that counts."
But..it's a penny for thoughts
And only children want pennies, right?
I guess all those proverbs and accepted sayings
are just one big tangle of thorns
they're constantly catching themselves on.
Saying sorry is a social nicety
becoming as meaningless as that silly smile
in the yearbook from two years back
because you can't even remember
why you wanted to laugh.
Were you so ridiculous then, too?
"I'm sorry, baby." Fuck you!
"Without you, I'm nothing."
How many clichés do you use
before people think they understand you?
It's all so FAKE!
The brilliance of creativity
that should be fostered from infancy
has been thrown aside
in an age when imitation
and half-assed celebrities
are the soup of the day,
when anyone with a half-pretty face
can be considered talented
and true talent is in the gutter
with morals and honesty,
living off of decaying drams
You used to be so original...
Your guitar rifts were the stuff
of angels fucking and devils kissing
and the heavens falling apart ecstatically
and I could never hear a serenade
without laughing in tears
But then..."I need money"
and three piece suits with ties.
You began drinking Starbucks
and eating McDonalds
And your Google stock
was too good for my poetry slams.
So the stereotypical secretary
appeared with her Nails 4 You manicure,
her Fire Engine Red Revlon polish
and her Bombshell Blond L'oreal.
I had your heart
until the "I'm sorry"s took over
and filled up what was left after
corporations moved in.
I hate your store bought roses
your corner-store apologies.