i taste that soil still
i still taste you
on my back
the grass in my eyes
and the bright blue sky
beer stained my shirt
i felt no shame
in being a fallen angel
right then

right then
as the band played
and my body did magical things
i never really controlled
right then
i was beyond
contented

i can still taste it
the ice in the lake
and the coffee in the asylum
visiting T
as he told us he was better
getting much better
with the unmistakable look of
derangement in his eyes

i can still taste it
the leather of my own black glove
that I bit hard
as I entered the room
where her stiff body lay
that I bit again
as my father broke down

I put my arm around him
and could do nothing

i taste her still
and her tears
that i never wished to taste
i know her smell
heartlessly divine
i know a million fools who said the same
standing at the end
divorce behind them
the taste of so called love
forever on their sharpened
tongues

You know what I really taste?
Nothing.
Nothing at all
these memories
rise and fall
just like the manic mad man
my brother used to be
and I will become
if I ever succumb
to the truth that,
frankly,
I'm not very good
at being contented
and even when I have the chance
I tend to fuck it up
by being,
well,
tasteless.