about
Fox was originally a poem I wrote about a girl named Emily, whom I brought with me late one moonlit night to Camp Turner. Like Camp Algonquin, Camp Turner is another cabin littered summer vacation-y establishment on the opposite side of the Fox River. Emily had really liked me sometime in the past, but I didn’t pursue a relationship with her. Honestly and regretfully, I had probably tried to negotiate some sort of a friends-with-benefits situation instead. I remember we sat at a park table close to the river bed. She sat on the bench with her legs facing the river, and I sat on the table top behind her also facing the river, with her between my legs. I swayed from one of her ears to another playing devil’s advocate to everything she said, thinking I was getting closer and closer to lover’s lane when in reality I was being downright mean and she began to cry. Feeling awful about it, I began to apologize and somewhere on the walk back to the car we made up with a hug. The last few lines of the lyrics reflect the conclusion I came to, that I needed to keep people I cared about far away from me so that I wouldn’t hurt them through my recklessness.
lyrics
On the riverbank of the Fox, painted only by onyx and moonlight, I made you cry of helplessness, dark distain, and despair. A bruised crime unforgiven by my conscience. Tear stains (that) only the park bench will know fell from pale soft skin I held close to my face (It’s so easy to slip into old comforts.) You held me only ‘cuz you were alone. You were fascinated with me. I showed you that I disagreed with your imagination. Ruin the dream, Spoil the honey. It can never be the way your green eyes dreamt it. Behind our embrace, I stared at windowpanes, opaque like your pupils. It stained out onto our dark black clothes already soaked with teenage sweat and caffeine. Our youthful grease was so sweet. I looked deep to see your wet brain. I’ll just thumb your skull down into the bed of the riverbank.
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