morning there, neighbor,
check the front page
another rockstar’s dropped dead on the stage
clutching the mike and gasping for air
another victim of teenage despair
 
bastard child left in the street
he pulled himself up with yesterday’s beat
but the song grows thin when you’re far away
and soon all he had was yesterday
 
tore up the stage with his very own dream
he lived every day to the extreme
rock ‘n’ roll monster with fury to lose
eaten away by front-page news
 
it takes two to tango and he couldn’t keep on
maybe he finally realized he was just a pawn
hit the studio with lost spite
all he could do was try to recite
 
he’s our shit messiah we live vicariously through
he’s the one who was once too bad to be true
say he died at the concert but he was long late
the music man’s dead when the song is sedate

she calls herself a fallen star, though she was never much of a star nor has she fallen in the direction she would like to think.
she picks up the change lying face-up on the sidewalk in hopes of finding something to spend it on.
she believes in the power of 11:11 but not much else.
she asks questions to hear someone answer.
she giggles at the wrong times but cries at all the right ones.

one day a rip will appear in the wallpaper in your life, and no matter how you try to patch it, the unravelling is inevitable.

there are no more butterflies.