friday night seems to mean bad disney sequels.

but we laugh about them, which i guess is the important part.

twelve a.m yields strange music videos and ideas gone wrong.

maybe it will help me find my muse.

mostly, it just makes me feel hollow. it's the kind of music that eats your heart out and leaves your insides fluttering with metallic shields. the acoustics sound tingly; sharp knives weaving through the fragile chassis of your tissue.

it does nothing for me.

where is the life in this 4/4 time?

most of the people preaching on my TV teach me how to hate, divide, discriminate, echo on the inside of my hollowed-out chest.

do they teach to hate because they hate to love? or maybe it justs works out nicely like that. or maybe it's the sugar-coated politeness and the way your heart is severed from your head that keeps civilization moving.

self preservation? but it's so...short term.

maybe i'm overshooting things.

crack in the window pane.

i hate oasis.

i hate the betrayal i've created in my own little head.

i want out.

(but just so i can rinse out my thoughts and start over.)

would i do it all again?

(do what all again?)

yes. because i love it. i love it but i hate it but i can't hate it because i love it too much and it's a part of me and that's just not efficient.

these people on my television teach me to hate.

or maybe that's all my sick, twisted head can process from the residue the happiness leaves around my eardrums.

sugar we're going down, but the best part is making the trip.
so hold on tight, press your lips against mine, and be my number one with a bullet.

amimorethanyoubargainedforyet?

quicksand.

i don't think i've ever felt quite like this before.

it's the mute on your violin. don't bother mourning over it.

i'm worried. scared. depressed. apathetic.

every single teenage cliche, and everyone think's it's fine.

the music feels like sandpaper.

family isn't there anymore.

home isn't there anymore.

the floor's falling out from under me. everything and nothing at the same time.

the only person i've ever told is the only person i would trust with my life.

the only time i feel at home is when i'm disturbing the peace with the two of you and an ipod. the rest of the time i feel like a ghost. a brick.

i look pretty sinking.

i thought the music lost it's pixie dust, but i think it's good for another round.

just so long as i blur my eyes and wring my hands together.

i'm scared. i just want it all to end.

i just want it all to end.