We’d Like to Thank the Academy

These words never meant a thing when I first thought them.

They’ll mean less as I write them,

and nothing will be left when you finally hear them.

Simply bones—stripped of skin, armed to the teeth with sin.

Chew on their meaninglessness; no worries needed, they’re harmless.


Keep your tongue locked behind your cheeks,

so sharp and bent that they cut into that speech in your throat.

Did you have one planned, or did I jump too far ahead?

Pay no mind; I’m functioning on hours spent out of bed.


This is white noise in truest form,

to be played as a soundtrack for the building burning,

twisting down the fire escape and making a start towards the street,

to be cut off at the intersection and split down the foundation.


I won’t claim to be your expert or claim to be a saint,

but I know enough to say you won’t fit in the picture I paint.

And if the mirror holds no lie,

then my frame must be out of your canvas in a similar manner.


We petitioned Paris on a new perspective and got a shrug in reply,

so from here on out we can map our love on a Pollock and trace the black.

No endings and no beginnings: There can be no more turning back;

something simple in concept, but as I look upon it now,

I find my hands trembling.


Before that little confidence in me becomes erased;

before those memories of you become replaced;

please let those meaningless letters and combinations grant a common ground.


Stay pure, stay as you are and stay unloved,

only as long as I stay the same—true and alone.

My pain can continue side-by-side with the worst nights you own,

until the sun rises on a more favorable next day.


And give me the hope that you’d say the same:

That this separation kills you more than me.

No more notes, no more looks.

Let me believe.

( ❤ Mitch)

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