my goddamn roommates.
you know how to make me turn like that, look like i want to, and be alright with eating alone in a crowded restaurant. an obscure toast to the friends that make it worth my while and those that rest in something along the lines of peace, love, and understanding (elvis, what happened?)
let's go to paris and eat their sweet food and speak their bad language. let's stay up all night, you next to me, talking about everyone that let us down, everything that ever surprised us.
we'll go to the playground, the one around the corner, and shiver with the cold. point out mars and remember how orion looked when we were smaller.
dance with me a little bit longer because friends should be this good, and she's bringing us a few more drinks.
we're a group of near misses, silver ink on black paper, armies of monkeys, miraculous catastrophes, and dull knives that only score the skin.
come on, we'll take the high road and buy the flowers we feel sorry for, marvel at that boy on his bike, and of course, argue over where to eat dinner.
let's truck it over to the ritz where they've got avail and weezer on the jukebox, and i'll kick your ass at air hockey. order me a double because we aren't going anywhere for a while. (ah, oui, toi, le singe qui penses du tout.)
an abstruse toast to these people that, somehow, every time, make the days scatter into mischievious laughter.
because when i wake up in the morning, and i pull back that velvet curtain, i know that you'll know what i mean when i say, "let's go fuck some shit up." and your eyes light up just so, strobe lights behind those pupils.
