1. |
intro
01:49
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2. |
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i hate bitter coffee more than i hate mornings and men who scoff at me for spitting on the sidewalk, like we don't already live in the dirtiest part of the city. hate is a strong word and I don't think the moon is really 238,900 miles away but i guess a girl who is too afraid of sodium fluoride to brush her own teeth isn't allowed to make that judgement. i like to think of all the strangers that I have momentarily fallen in love with as fireflies who were unlucky enough to miss their expiration date; beautiful in all the wrong ways, but beautiful nonetheless. the clerk at a speedway once told me I smelled like marlboros and cheap perfume. he laughed because he thought it was funny; i laughed because I knew it wasn't. if he had the unfortunate privilege of slicing me open in half, i'm almost sure all the creepy crawly things would somehow find a way out. more often than not i feel like a background character in a paperback written by some god who has put me on this planet but has yet to explain any of it. the earth is probably spinning at 1,040 miles an hour and the moon may or may not be 238,900 miles away, but i don't know why i'm here, really. i fucking don't.
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3. |
blackout
02:28
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hair plastered to my cheeks and a lighter clutched to my chest (like it is my childhood teddybear that i misplaced some years ago and never cared enough to look for) accompany me through the nights i spend running from a nightmare playing behind my closed eyelids like a bad film i've seen too many times. i had one of those days again - the kind where the day begins in the middle of the night and when i open my mouth to say something, my tongue doesn't know how to roll over my teeth and my spit doesn't know how to collect on the back of my canines and my gums don't know how to smack together to form the words i so badly need to get out.
and i don't know: why i feel so sentimental for someone who treated me like you did, why i feel like i will never be loved the way you loved me, why i feel like it was love in the first place.
you always told me if you are going to fail then you will do it beautifully but i can't forget the look on your face when you proved yourself wrong. there is a fine line between being lonely and being alone, and i like to think that i'm neither, but i also like to think that the moon landing never happened and that if i don't think about the people i've hurt, then they won't exist anymore. and i know that i am too young to spend my life hiding in the dark, but all that i am able to breathe in is the contrast of a white hospital gown stained red like the color of your t-shirt, the one you wore that night in july when my bones ached and my throat burned, uncomfortable in all of the heat. and as shallow as this pond is in depth i'm still there, and i still remember. how could i ever forget?
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4. |
levitate
02:02
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everything is perfect until it's not, until we're stuck in this fever dream again, living out the same day like we're stuck on rewind. and maybe if we just learned to love ourselves a little better, a little more, then maybe we can break this cycle of making amends over a cup of shitty coffee every week. but loving ourselves feels miles away and i don't want to cross oceans anymore. the real funny thing is, i never learned how to swim in the first place but i jumped in with you anyway because you said that's what love is. darling, i can't breathe underwater, and i'm sick of drowning. sick of spitting out words i never wanted to say out loud, words you forced up my throat to make yourself feel better about it all. and i'm sick of empty packs of cigarettes and liquor that burns so good and the taste in my mouth after i've consumed both of them in a twisted attempt to forget about you.
but maybe if we just learned to love ourselves better, right? that's the lie you keep telling yourself because it puts you to sleep at night but without the feeling of another body next to yours you barely slept to begin with and that's when the realization hits you again. that's when you'll call, spewing out my name two syllables or maybe three if i make you hate me hard enough. that's when you'll come crawling back, and i'll come running toward you again, into your arms like it is the only safe placed left in the world and i'll do it, even though i know i will wake up in the morning and you'll exhale my name and it will sound like all of the color dripping out of the world and fading into grey-scale. but maybe i just need to learn to love myself a little better.
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5. |
skateboard hands
01:23
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art school was never an option. self-deprecating and smoking too many marlboros has always suited me better, anyway. often times i feel like i am trying to land a crashing plane over an ocean that only exists in my head: a blue plethora of rain and bullshit that won't catch me when i fall. they keep telling me to go as far as i can and never look back but they've never tried to run away with two broken legs and five bucks in the back pocket of their jeans. my mind continuously scolds me for not being better but every single time i try to smear off all the sin, i erase the bad by making it worse (me, of all people.) lately i've been running on autopilot: i don't know where i'm going but i keep telling myself everything will be better when i get there. it has to be.
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6. |
slaughterhouse
01:11
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i was born to die in the morning; born to be buried with a cup of dark roast and something bittersweet to exhale through my shallow lungs, as they squeeze together in their glory, forcing oxygen into my body that i don't want, acting like i have something to thank them for. i am something short of a temple; someone existing only to put you in your grave or drag you out of it and maybe - just maybe - i can succumb to the possibility of being me: everything and nothing all at once, the honey dripping from your wounds and the blood splattered across the floorboards the night that i left. i still remember, and i'm terrified i always will.
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7. |
safe
01:40
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all i ever needed to know, i learned in willoughby, ohio, sixty-five miles from home with a cigarette in my right hand and a cup of decaf in my left - the only way i felt safe in those parts. now, in the midst of my own self-destruction, safe is a word i'll never feel, a word that i can't quite bring myself to say. it's been nine months since i left but i still can't get out of bed in the morning out of fear that i will slip through the floorboards and this house will swallow me. understand: i just want to feel whole again.
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8. |
quarter after two
01:14
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"say no to those kinds of boys and keep on walking," your mother always said. there is a rush. oxygen tumbles like a tide in your brain, smells like lavender. he stares a hole through your eyes. you wonder what's so fascinating. it's just you. when you stare back, you notice the faint shadow of a philtrum. your fingers swell with the notion to touch it, to examine it, but you're not like that. he smiles at you and suddenly it isn't a game anymore. "stick around maybe" your words were screwed up sometimes. "i can be a better me." delicious irony resides between your teeth. good one, ma.
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9. |
quotes from an acid trip
01:41
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thunderstorms and being eighteen hit me in the mouth one day like my father’s fists did in a parking lot last november. i dreamt of newspaper veins that bled
when it rained, and jokes that nobody found funny after awhile; of these things, i only asked that they did not touch me if they had intent on leaving, but like the bruises under my mother’s eyes that faded yellow, i knew that everything goes away eventually, and that love is like a blue moon, drunk in a starry void, even as i was blinded by mine own attempt at forgetting about love completely. i wore seasons on my sleeves, dripping like honey from my mouth and november came around again. this time, i dreamt of motorcycle crashes and a purple rib cage and then i met him; he tasted like survival and i didn’t believe in god but when
my skin touched his it was like heaven, angels and all, and i stopped dreaming altogether. i met him, and i never went three days without getting out of bed again because he told me that my feet wouldn’t shatter upon impact with the floor and he was right.
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10. |
outro
01:46
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lunary kid Cleveland, Ohio
lunary kid is a solo project created by mollie suzanne quinn.
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