long, unrelated titles are for hipsters

its like creaking unplugged ferris wheels
to climb like autumn memories at night,
and get wasted, toss miracles off the side

and its like hearing
"get with the program"
"get your grades up";
failed expectations mean the same to me
(not one of them means anything, unless its mine i've failed)
so lets smoke up, and remember the intensity
of flashing lights, and friends, and tears, and booze
and how the memories were enough to keep us here

and its like spending the night at a friends; the word is disconcerting,
like "moms gone, and dads fucked up again"
or like holding hands in the backseat and looking for a star
or memories of wilted flowers, driving down arlington avenue

and its like saying "lets go to the beach" in winter,
casting empty glass into the sea
and hearing waves crash on the sand in waves,
because waves crash on the sand in waves.

and its like all the friends i've fucked up,
and its like all the times i've fucked up
and while i'm tired of writing love songs,
its still like typing "i miss you"
but never pressing send
but never pressing send

and its like walking home at night
maybe kinsella can keep me company;
i'm late, i'm tired, and i'm dying inside,
and i can't remember what it it felt to be alive,
and, oh my god, the music won't stop,
and neither will those headlights