It's such a useless thing:
A letterman without a jacket.
I'm such a useless thing:
A lonely fag without companion.
It doesn't really mean anything,
that purple, black, and gold.
A one and nine stuck on the sleeve,
that champion patch on my heart,
it's not worth any money.
I can get my name embroidered,
but they still won't use it.
I can get the inside quilted,
but it'll still be cold.
That entire team doesn't care
if I live or die.
And some of them
probably prefer the latter.
kanske kan vi bli
perfekt pojkvänner
men jag vet inte om han gillar mig
jag önskar att han var gay
varför är du en jävla fjortis?
varför är jag en man?
jag vet att det här är fel
men det här är min cell
du borde kanna dig speciell
ingen annan vill ha dig lika mig
perfekt pojkvänner
when i peel my skin back,
am i more attractive?
when i peel my skin back,
am i still ugly?
what if i had no fat
had no muscles
had no bones
what if we were only colors
are we complimentary?
do we mix perfectly?
when i peel my skin back,
and when you peel back yours
i think we're two parts of one whole
but i'll never have the proof
I catch you staring at me in the locker room.
You're a shoe size 12 and a half,
but you're also a freshie and a half.
Your dark, shining, curls of hair
light eyes: blue or green? No clue.
You wear your hat high on your head.
I can't have this happen again,
I should know by now.
Romance always finds its end
in the locker room.
But my mind conjures up images—
vivid, lucid love.
I'm laying my head on your chest,
and we're each others' other half.
maybe i should write a song,
name it after you
it's catchy like pnumonia
filling up my lungs
maybe i wasn't meant to hear
anything you said
you'd rather be in a grave
than be a fucking queer
what if i just cut my legs off
my arms off
my head off
a black dahlia, plucked apart
bleeding, drained
directly from my heart
what if i just dropped dead
my art is nothing special
everything has been made before
what if i just dropped dead?
the world would keep running—
my presence is only an inconvenience
to myself.
i only feel happy
under the influence
i'm closer to dying
but hey, it feels better
than i usually do.
physical pain is the pain i prefer
the flavor isn't bitter, isn't sour
it's the type of pain that i know how to handle
with some ice, some pressure, some time.
i miss you a lot
under the influence
you're so far away
but hey, it feels better
than i usually do.
can i be
part of your team?
i promise not to bother
i'm okay with sitting on the bench
can i be
part of your team?
i know you can't say no
i'm okay with being tolerated
if i pay
half my pride,
do i get to wear a jersey?
do i get to pretend that i won?
if i pay
with my life,
do i get to love you sweetly?
is it intricate enough?
can i be?
i still have a distorted memory of you.
i remember we skated together.
i remember you convinced me to start playing hockey.
i remember you buying me ice cream.
five years ago, i know things can change.
but still, after four, you won't consider me?
i know that sounds stuck up—three years is the max.
but two me you were
my number one.
i still have a distorted memory of you.
i remember i asked if you were gonna go.
i remember i asked if i should ask.
i remember you cut me off.
then at that time, i realized
that this team is just pretending
to love me and accept me
they just wanted $400
squeezed out of me.
i wish i was still passionate
so i can pretend to love life
but still no words come out
no words can
i was tricked into thinking
nothing about me is okay
but everything is okay,
i swear to god it's okay
for fuck's sake, define happy
i need to know what it is
i want to be what it is
are you?
choose a number from one to four
have you felt lonely? have you felt angry?
have you felt like you want to destroy yourself?
i've already tried to do whatever you're suggesting to—
everything i try just comes back.
i wish i can blame you for everything i feel
but i know in some ways, i walked into this
everytime i see you, i tense up just a bit
i wish i didn't daydream so damn much
when i see your face
it's nothing i remember
vaguely it's you but
so full of hate
choose a number from ten to twelve
that's how many hours that i've cried
i hope you got what you fucking want
i wish i was still passionate
so i can pretend to move on
but still my feet are planted
still my feet are planted
and i know you'll never love me
never touch me, never kiss me
i almost killed myself
and you didn't blink.