two acoustic guitars are making love on a bed
one has strings, the other is barren, so there's no need for contraception
cigarette butts made sure nothing foul was said
because gossip only leads to half-truths and violence and misconceptions
empty wine bottles litter the floor
one says 'forget me'
the other begs love forevermore
tears paint the face beautiful and proud
eyes turn from green to red
and ambience chokes the grieving sound
the ceiling fan overhead whirrs with robust potential
like gravity it spins around an orbit
the implications of its intentions seem so monumental
but are limited by true self-absorbance
there's something sad about the fact that once the expiration date has been sealed and made, nothing can stop it's inevitable decay
that we always throw out the waste
regardless of our intrinsic truths
to say that we, the strong and the free, would allow others to restrain the things that we need and nothing will stand in the way
of trading true happiness for shame
relegated to an existence obtuse
enamel gnawing on nails
stomachs now full of acid
cardiovascular systems failed
no clue what had ever happened
piles of clothes know that they're not the summer fashion
they plead with me to be given to the salvation army
but they concede that philanthropy never really happens
ostriches bury their head in the sand
not because they're afraid
but because no one ever understands
two guitars making love on a bed
forgetting societies pressures
but focusing on real love instead
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