One, two, three'm the bullet--you are the bullseye

 Don't look down.

It's good advice for the literal-minded, but my brain doesn't work that way.

I closed my eyes when you left.

So where were we? In a bar? Yeah, the atmosphere gives it away. Remember "Life is an Uninhabitable Planet"? Never finished that one, 'cause it stopped making sense. It's pretty easy to live here, so long as you keep mum. Does that count as living? I never thought so. But who says I was thinking? Does talking clear the air, or cloud the issue? All I know is--you open your mouth, you're asking for a lungful. And what's the point? The words rise with the smoke. I don't chase 'em unless I'm damned sure they were meant for me--and that doesn't happen often.

I don't judge the quiet ones anymore. I just screech my prettiest and let people hork up the substance for themselves.

"I am the woman"

(Wish I was you)

"I'm suffering"

(Don't you wish it was true?)

"I was never there"

(And neither were you)

"And neither were you."

This one's called "Second Person Singular". As in: "this is the age of the..." I'm still on board with the theory, but these days it feels more like a threat.

The wall of sound is hard to climb. You tag your side, I'll tag mine. Maybe someday we'll be "it" together. But not today. The delusion has run its course and left me panting. I always feel closest to the magic words when I'm too winded to say 'em...