I'm looking through it all, and ofcourse I know I shouldn't, but I look anyway. I create a feeling that I shouldn't be feeling but I know how you are anyway, so it bugs. I stare. I stare with my eyes closed. This fucking feeling bothers. My heart beats slow, my fingers roll fast, my tongue lies on the bottom of my mouth ready to yell out the words and the questions and every single syllable of whats floating in the air around me. I shouldn't be listening to petty music, and to some silly love songs. I should but I wont.


One of these days....I'll make some money.
Buy myself those things that I want. Acrylic paints.
Acoustic guitar strings. new bicycle seat. i ride over to your house each night.
one of these days ill get a real job
and that actually pays like my dad had


I know what's inside of that person. I can see straight through it. I don't need to know them to know. It's instinct... I feel my feet growing colder and colder but I don't get up to get a blanket because I like these feelings of need. This need that's useless but it'll comfort me. I need to stop wanting. My hands grow colder and colder. I'd usually wish I was laying in bed under blankets but my desires are useless. I crawl into this place that's created in my mind where I scream gibberish. But after a while I sit there and I laugh because nothing is real. My safe place isn't even real. I'll sing to myself and feel that small bit of content in myself but it'll soon fade away when I wake up and hear everyone else singing beside me. I'm only one and their voices boom with melody and chords flowing out so beautifully that I'm the background singer and that's all I'll be. my nice ness gets me no where.


My whole fucking face hurts.

Time has changed me.






I'm going to sing and sing and sing. And even though it's not better than everyone else's. I'll be happy because it's my own. My own wind. My own tone. My own language. its beautiful to noone else but me.