There goes dinner.
There goes lunch.
There goes breakfast,
and forget about brunch.

(My diet is absurd.
One can't survive on just words.)

Nevermind health.
Nevermind peace.
I forgot how to eat.
I'm just feeding off sleep.

Everything will be alright
These frightening thoughts won't live past tonight
You'll wake up in the morning and feel . . .
Whole again

So when you feel that noose getting tight
When the shadows obstruct your view of the light
Just lay down and go to sleep
And when you wake
Everything will be bright

This moment you're stuck in
Will not last forever
There will be a tomorrow
And it'll make you feel better

But there's a chance that it won't
The trick is to hope
If you go to bed knowing that you'll feel empty tomorrow
Then don't

You'll wake up in the morning and realize
That you have no friends
You'll wake up in the morning and think
That you have to start all over again
You'll wake up in the morning and wish
That you'd rather be dead

But still everything will be alright
You'll grow accustomed to this empty life
You'll wake up in the morning and feel . . .
That hole again

So when that fiend comes to trap you
And you struggle ensnared
And you scream out your soul to find somebody who cares
You'll hear your own echo come back
And realize that nobody's there

Nothing ever will be alright
You've ****** up real good
Permanently this time
Spend forever in the void to repent for this crime

But this time is an illusion
And this void is made up
I am cause I am
And that one thought is enough
Everything will be alright
Because everything is what you're made of

1: Ah, I'm not ready yet.
2. I'm still just trying to get situated, you know?
3. Also, I ******* hate dating
4. I'm totally comfortable with being alone at the moment.
5. Maybe too comfortable! (Hahahahahahahaha)
6. I'm probably more of a loner-type, you know?
7. I've never been very good at relationships, and they almost always don't end well.
8. Oh god, I can't even tell you the last time I was in a serious relationship.
9. It's been a long time since I've been with someone.
10. (Maybe too long! (Hahahahahahahahahahaha))
11. Ah, just the headache and heartache and having to answer to someone else all of the time. I prefer to just only have to look out for myself.
12. And I have enough trouble just doing that, most days . . .  
13. In a relationship, it's almost like you have to split yourself in two.
14. And in my not-so-humble opinion, when you add the two parts together, they still don't exactly equal a whole, you know?
15. I don't know. I'm just too selfish I guess.
16. Are you kidding? Yea but no, totally. She's beautiful, and seems really nice.
17. But beauty and kindness kinda freaks me out, you know?
18. It's been too long since beauty's been nice to me. (Maybe too long! (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA))
19. I'm ******* mental, really.
20. Anyone who tries to get close to me realizes that before too long.
21. No, not the interesting kind of mental; more like the annoying/intolerable kind.
22. I don't think I could handle it, honestly.
23. And honestly, it's been so long that just the idea of becoming emotionally involved with someone else scares the ever-living **** out of me.
24. Alright, **** it. Sure, why not? What's her name again?

I've read the old poets and they're boring.
I've read the modernists and there might be something to it.
I've read my contemporaries and they're strictly hit or miss,
but I don't read my own because I know it's all ****.

And its grave is marked by a half-scale vinyl replica of The Thinker
wearing a sharknado T-shirt,
and a novelty beer helmet.

Wait, you mean I have to actually relate to these cretins?

Give me art
Give me passion
Give me a different interpretation for these moments passing
Give me a total appreciation for this scene before my eyes
This scene that no one else will ever get to see
This scene that only I will ever be able to believe
I love it all the more because it can't be explained
Make me go crazy
Drive me insane
Clear that blocked path that's always been hiding in the back of my brain
Give me that power
The one that comes straight from the heart
Give me more passion
Give me more art

"With the birds and shed it's a lonely view."
- Scar Tissue   The Red Hot Chili Peppers

"I came in like a raiiiiiiiiinnbow!"
- Wrecking Ball   Miley Cyrus

"***** deeds, Dunder chief!"
- ***** Deeds   AC/DC

"There goes my hero, watch him as he goes.
There goes my hero: sergeant Harry!"
- My Hero   The Foo Fighters

"The boys of Becking town! The boys of Becking towowooown!"
The Boys Are Back In Town   Thin Lizzy

The thing about being cool with everything is that sometimes people will try to chill you into freezing a frame that you've only ever enjoyed in motion.

Ideally, I'd've gone home already.
Done the dishes.
Wished that all of this had never'd happened.

Anyway, I've a feeling that I'll feel ****** tomorrow.
About it.
And this.
Bliss is offset by unpreferred circumstances.

Meanwhile, the Peter Pan version of myself who lives in the back of my head is mockingly bleating like a sheep.

"With the birds and shed it's a lonely view."
- Scar Tissue   The Red Hot Chili Peppers
(My brother, I think. It might've been me. Maybe both of us. Still a great song, either way.)

"I came in like a raiiiiiiiiinnbow!"
- Wrecking Ball   Miley Cyrus
(My sister. (Honestly I like her version better.))

"***** deeds, Dunder chief!"
- ***** Deeds   AC/DC
(My dad. Easily my favorite of all these.)

"There goes my hero, watch him as he goes.
There goes my hero: sergeant Harry!"
- My Hero   The Foo Fighters
(This was all me. For the longest time I thought this song was about a real guy. Good ol' Sgt Harry.)

"The boys of Becking town! The boys of Becking towowooown!"
The Boys Are Back In Town   Thin Lizzy
(My dad, again. (He's deaf in one ear.))

Muse of many.
Committed to none.
Play on lovely lyre,
play on.

Guiding light to the lost.
Promise of hope for everyone.
Shine on lovely star,
shine on.

To pull away and fall apart,
like a cardboard box on a kite string.
In a meadow full of wild daisies,
with a truckload of duck feathers tucked inside a couple of chicken-wire cages;
leaking.

To lie awake while dreaming of escaping.
To sweat out every fear.
Crawling through the little door in the painting just to fall asleep again.

A little man with big emotion
An empty can floating in the ocean
There's more than one way to skin a cat
Your best bet is to choose one method and not look back
Don't let them know you doubt it for a second

Because it's always the second one that takes
The first never makes it
And the third is a mistake
But only actors can fake their own glory
Really all you need is some kind of story

Being lame is underrated.
(What a stinkin' silly statement!)
Being bad is such a bore.
(What was all that nonsense for?)
I'm okay with just being me from now on,
and I don't need this anymore.

Some people can love
people they don't even know;
people who can be awful and selfish and have hearts made of lead.

Some people can still love these people;
People with hearts made of gold,
whose shine blinds them to the negative judgements they'd otherwise find in their heads.

These kinds of people are great.
Every one person who can love anyone,
is worth at least ten thousand who hate.

To all the people in love with the moon,
and to those who love the sound of the rain;
this one's for you:
We're one and the same.

Not everybody is interested in everything.
Everyone's got their own particular sphere and multi-limbed web of general interests.
When one goes on about a topic that another finds uninteresting, then their listener is bound to get bored, (and boredom is the precursor to annoyance.)

This is where tact comes in. Tactfulness is the ability to read boredom (as well as uneasiness, embarrassment, and any other general anxiety-inducing feelings) in your listener. Someone with tact knows when to change the subject and/or shut up altogether. It's a subtlety.

However, the more passionate one feels about a subject, the harder it is for them to show tact when talking about it.

This explains why nerds and drunks get such a bad rap for being annoying. (God forbid, a drunken nerd . . . )
Because they feel so passionately about the topics that they're interested in that they'll often talk at great length about them without any regard for their audiences' boredom. (And prolonged boredom invariably leads to annoyance.)

This is why the nerdiest of nerds is often regarded as a god amongst their peers (with "peers" in this sense really just meaning people of similar interests.) Because they have such vast knowledge of such a particular subject (which is often of very little interest to most Others. ("Others" in this sense meaning people who are outside of this particular circle of peers.))

The same may or may not be true for drunks.
(Although, there's something to be said about both of them being the most likely to have conversations with no one but themselves.)

This also explains general aloofness (a.k.a. coolness, i.e. "being cool.")
The types who seem so disinterested in everything that people often become interested in them if for no other reason than to simply find out what it is that they actually do find interesting.

This is why cool people tend to be so popular. Everyone trying their hand at gaining their attention by drawing it to this thing or that thing, with a weird need of validation being thinly-veiled beneath it.
(This might also explain why "cool" people tend to be such *******; often dismissing these constant attempts to grab their attention as either pathetic and/or depressing.)

Then, of course, there are the word-smiths. The Salesmen.
Those who fancy themselves so intelligent as to be able to twist what their audience would otherwise find disinteresting into something that they can't live without,
often through some combination of communication manipulation and nonverbal tricks.

But just don't listen to them.

Pretty much sums up the conversation we had earlier.
The one about how you knew that I thought your pretentious pretty friend was more interesting than you.

Contrary to what you may be thinking,
I am not a contrairian.
I like to play Angel's Counsel to your Devil's Advocate, but not just because I've been drinking.
(Though, to be fair, I have been, but forgive me. I'm celebrating.)
Anything worth debating always has two sides.
Try seeing them both for a change before dividing the lines.
And while it may sound contradictory at times, and doesn't end in a rhyme,
just meet me in the middle, *******!

I look back at the past and it strikes me like art.
We spent those days splashing through invisible paint.
Revealed years later as we lie in dark rooms.
Life is a stage.
We played our part.

I look at the present and it feels like a war.
Everyday there's another battle to be fought.
Lost some comrades along the way;
trapped in memories I forgot.

The future is a shifting plan attempting to be set into motion.
Like a melody in the head that's yet to be written.
Like a day spent purposely thinking silly thoughts
in order to ensure a night full of silly dreams.
It's like trying to predict what the monument will be
to commemorate those who served in a war
that hasn't even started yet.

You speak the language of despair.
I can hear you calling out from the depths of hell.
I know because I've been there.
My dear, I understand all too well.
Slowly killing yourself, but nobody cares.
Truth of the matter is, they're just scared.

You're the manifestation of all their worst fears.
A reflection of their darkest desires.
Everything they try to repress:
(drugs, rock n' roll, ***.)
Dancing with the devil in fire.
They close their eyes to it.
No wonder they're so distressed.

But there's another class out there,
and of them, I say,
Beware!
They don't understand but pretend to care.
Their lives are such a bore that they'll drink from your sins.
They'll tell you encouraging words as you struggle to swim.
But you're nothing more than a jester to them.
If you ever make it to the shore,
they'll just push you back in.

This aimless floating isn't working out.
I've been living entirely in my own head.
I've been thinking a lot about drinking again.
I'm a ******* island.
If I sink at least there'll be fish to swim with.

There's a formula that can keep me going indefinitely.
They say immortality's nothing but a myth,
but I've got the recipe.
It was passed down to me as an ancient family secret:

"Three strips is never enough."

I told her that I had a problem.
She attempted to show me her own.
It's all mathematical nonsense.
We can't solve them.
She said that numbers don't make a home.

If 1+(2-1 who doesn't belong + 1 who could be true = what could come from the addition of me and you)
I asked about the decimals.
She said I'm only trying to give you clues.
I answered:
that math leaves me with only 1/3 of you.

I want the whole pi or nothing at all.
She said every parabola has its rise and fall.
I told her I'm more into asymptotes;
Edging ever closer without touching the wall,
but I'm not a withholder.
She asked me to prove it,
so I showed her my ruler.

I got filled up with something thrilling and I've been
spilling it out of me ever since.
Inspiration is the basis of how to make a difference.
Swelled up from songs and quotes
now spread them out into the world.

Pay it forward, play it back;
put that ride in gear
get it back on track.

There's a whole world of people down in the dumps.
If you've got passion and if you can feel love,
then extend your hand to pull the others up.

I am not above you.
You are a reflection of how I was before.
I'm no longer afraid to love you.
Let's both feel better and never let that misery touch us anymore.

Broken shards of pottery falling down a chasm.

Forgive my lack of segue,
I think I'm having a brain spasm.

Ceramic rain on a day like this,
and now I'm missing my umbrella.

The funky fact remains that I'm still one fragile kind of fella.

The herald of hedonism dove headlong into his own soft spot,
with just enough pressure to puncture it.
Awash in thoughts of lost humbleness;
Swimming in his own *****.

Tore the skin to reveal blood and guts.
Nothing left but guts and blood.

Animated by some force of destruction.

I play these ballads for no one
To lose myself in it
And right when it's over
Is when I begin it

Now caught in the middle
My mind sits bewildered
Innocent criminal
A guileless sinner

In the between
Fulfilling my dreams
Giving sound to my conscience
Through the touch of these keys

I begin to see it
I start to believe
All of this nonsense
Now I know what it means

This isn't going to end well,
but it's already over.
Just another thing to dread
if and when I'm ever sober again.

I grew up watching my parents reduce themselves to their bassist.
Oops, that's a typo:
They are not musicians.
Debasement, so crass.
Humiliation on full blast.
But I guess it's a fairly common thing to dread family vacations.

My mom can't take the hint.
She can't tell when we're disinterested.
My dad talks a bunch of crazy **** despite who might be listening.

There's an unspoken comraderie amongst us siblings.
We're all in this together.
We fight our inherited,
unwanted,
self-destructive tendencies.
When I lose a battle I can always count on them to make me feel better.

Two have found ther wings.
They flew away from this place.
One soars high,
but I fear the other found himself another cage.

It's okay, I think.
I mean, I think he'll be okay.
As for us remaining two,
we're slowly making our way.
Our way out, is what I mean.
It's what I meant to say.

This nest hasn't been kept very warm,
but I guess it's still a home.
With two featherless,
flightless birds to deal with;
I'm glad I didn't have to go it alone.

Sub-human thing.
Unsubtle sting;
a barb that pierces.

My body sings a song that echoes owl screeches.
The moon, it gapes;
my one escape to the farthest reaches.

Out on the fringe, my fur is tinged by embers burnt into the skin
to be met with gnashed teeth and claws that grasp at meat within.

Sub-human form;
body transformed into a nightmare.
A howl that drowns out all and every modern trapping.

Run away and I'll give chase.
Red blood boiling through my veins.
Tearing flesh with filed fangs;
enamoured with the taste.

No more phony saviors.
No more unasked for questions.
No more forced behaviors or unwanted confessions.

No more false prophets.
No more second guesses.
No more burnt synapses or blown out thought processes.

No more ****** mouths.
No more bitten tongues.
It's finally over now.
Finally, it's done.

The End to Ups and Downs -
forget about "c'est la vie."
There'll be nothing more from You now;
all that's left is Me.

. . .

Let me be your ego trip
and you can be my ego boost
Something so simple
Don't be afraid
and don't you dare be confused

You can use me,
and I'll use you
We can fold each other to stay blind from the truth

Because I don't care if it's wrong or right
I just don't want to be alone tonight

So come on, say yes
and don't over-think
Let's get together
We'll have some drinks
And I sure as **** won't regret it
Just so long as I can sleep

Because the last thing that I need
Is another girl to haunt my dreams

I can't wait to partake in things that make you sick.
My stomach stays high tide.
Stay away from it if you can't swim.
My guts are laid out in patterns;
peaches and fruit flesh stuck to fingertips.

(**** my **** then give me a kiss.)

I can't wait to imitate art contained in this.
Two figures trapped within an unfinished painting.
Four strokes of inspiration to complete the lips.
A splash of white to end it.

My mind has been cleaved open.
I'm feeling expansive.
Take me out tonight;
I feel like dancing.

Buy me a drink or two.
By the end we'll be in flight.
"I swear I'll make it up to you."
Let's feel alive tonight.

Bump and grind and jump and jive
to get lost in the moment.
The meaning of life can sit behind while instincts take up the forefront.

I do love this song so much,
and this is what I live for.
Philosophy is out to lunch when I'm out on the dance floor.

(This is the part where your theme song surges up inside your head,
and when you feel the energy hold out til you see red.
Release it all in one hot go out into that hail storm
with the passion that you've carried with you from the day that you were born.)

Freak me out, please.
Say something to make me drop to my knees.
Not in praise or glory -
I've had it with that story.
I want something unpredictable and gory.
Do you know what I mean?

So you found yourself in over your head.
Bit off more than you could chew.
Stretched yourself a little too thin,
then what did you do?

Sent out a veiled cry-for-help to a friend,
knowing full well it was a torpedo.

Notes speak louder than words.
I heard a chord that couldn't be whispered.
Lost in a whirl of secrets I swore I to keep.

Some things are best left unspoken.

A few leaked out.
Distance helped with that.
If the birds don't get them first,
we should be able to find our way back.

I've never had the most solid sense of direction.
I've this bad habit of getting lost;
first in thought and then, well,
literally.

But I've written things this whole time,
and every line is an arrow so that I can find my way back.
Back to some kind of bliss.
A state of mind that I can no longer feel,
but I know that I miss.

But isn't there a part in that story where the bread crumbs have been eaten by birds?

I can't remember.

Freak out.
Sprint far from the start.

Realize you're just a caterpillar,
but then turn into a moth.

Attracted to the flame that's always been burning in your heart.

(But this is the part where the wings fall off.)

Walk the earth as a snail,
with your home on your back.
Leave a shining trail wherever you go,
but don't ever look back.

Here for one word and that word is a miss.
Forgone the phone and the **** and whatnot.
Things in the attic that drip through the floor.
Waking up in quicksand.

Build castles out of cards.
Cover it in glue.
Tear it all apart.
This is what we do.

Good God kid!
Now I remember all of it:
I was just a do-gooder passing through.
Like some sort of ghost, like a wisp,
amazed that I had somehow found my way onto the guest list.
No wonder I got so drunk.
No wonder I was constantly throwing up.
I couldn't handle it -
being in the midst of such intelligence.
But I was hooked.
I knew this was where true inspiration lives.

But it scared me so I fled into self-sentenced exile.
You knew she wasn't the one, you knew all the while.
I struggled and bled. I thought of things we had said.
I tried to lead a proper life,
but I felt already dead.

So I returned,
but in the wake of a irrevocable mistake.
Much like I remembered, but it wasn't the same place.
A shadow loomed over. Everything was changed.
And though you were glad that I was back again,
it was clear that you were devastated by the death of a friend.
I couldn't relate.

Still, I tried. All those that knew him; how they cried.
There I was, with just a broken heart.
It felt like nothing compared.
I'd never loved anyone who had died.  

But time goes by, and supposedly, it heals all wounds.
We were having fun again, feeling alive before too soon.
Then everything changed when you were going to move.
Afraid of what I stood to lose,
I decided to move with you too.

We got ourselves into situations with which we could not cope.
Communicating got harder and we began to lose hope.
The gap between one life and another can seem so vast.
I moved back home again and our lives took separate paths.

Here I am rehashing the past,
without you.

So where are we now?
Has it all gone so south?
Seems like there's more complaints than profundities spilling out of our mouths.
Where did we go wrong?
Was it our fate all along?

No.

No way.

Fate was always something we defied.
But I worry about you sometimes.
I thought about you today.
Why didn't you take my call tonight?

Three chances to hit it big,
with trials of patience between them.
No time to relax, there's cash riding on this,
and you'll soon have to shoot again.
Don't lament over missed opportunities.
Three more shots can make all the difference.
You're due for a win, just stay focused.
Take aim then let it go.

Sense is a scene of collective meaning where prevailing modes of thinking swarm up in a mighty hand of insects with the intention of slamming down upon some unsuspecting bird.

I know you're independent.
I can tell you're never scared.
You've plans of conquering the world.
I'd just like to be there for it.

When I stare into your eyes,
I see the best parts of me reflected.
I don't want to weigh you down.
I don't want to be your anchor.

Sail on into those unknown seas.
Brave those winds without fear.
I'll wonder if you ever think of me,
but I'll be too proud to shed any tears.

Then again,
when I stare into your eyes,
I swear,
I want nothing more than to kiss you
and run my hands through your hair.