"thousands of little blue lights. tiffany's blue. valium blue."

i can't see in the dark

i can't breathe in the sea

but none of that means

what you mean to me.

for bad poetry, turn to page 65.

it's stupid to get attached to something like that. it was such a bad idea - like touching live wires or believing in magic - but it was bone crushing. earth shattering. romantic, an idea i fell for.

for naivete, turn to page 34.

who the fuck needs people, anyways.

but at the end of the day, it was just four boys i've never met and some notes i could never duplicate.



it was the light at the end of the tunnel. but the tunnel's never ending and no one knows what wattage that light could possibly be. lumps in throats turn into holes in hearts turn into bullets in heads turn into bodies in graves.

for death wishes, turn to page 108.

selfish.

they're nothing but bodies.

bury me stuffed to the brim with nostalgia. i want to crave the yesterdays in the afterlife. i want to go back to when the world didn't give a fuck ( it still doesn't, of course) and change everything. i want the world to give in, give up, sit back, grow up, and die young.

i am the unknown, even to myself. an encyclopedia with nothing on the pages. the inside cover says "you never lived up to your potential, you know".

for loneliness, turn to page 29.

if you love me, you'll pick up that brick and crack open my skull.

or maybe just sit with me for a while?

unused, but still faded.
fake love has never been so cruel.