Standing like a model in a motel room-
jealous eyes can't open the blinds.
Every time, every time.

Je t'aime à la folie, broken frames.
These are beautiful songs for damaged people
that don't think they're all the same.

They taste like formaldehyde,
so hopefully they'll preserve me.
But, instead, they burn the room
as they kiss my neck and collarbone.
Lapdancing on my loneliness-
Please, let me remove my eyes and hands,
because I've seen and have felt too much.

You don't understand:
everything is ideation
and demisexuality.
Double entendre:
I'm a toxic lover,
I have girls around my waste.

Take a look around and see how damaged everyone is,
and how universal they are in their illusory disguise,
"How can we be so smart if the last line was redundant, guys?"

Je t'aime à la folie, broken frames.
This is just a mediocre song for damaged people,
so they believe they're not all the same.

Don't feel too much.
Remove introspection.
Be self-absorbed.
Feel no affection.

I'm so happy-
I've masturbated until I can't feel
and that's okay.
My hair is brittle;
the water's iron and so are you-
your love's a mess.
God is angry
because he doesn't have to exist
to be real.

Hipsters ruined liking Wes Anderson-
Bill Hicks was brilliant
and everyone is an intellectual.
Your ideas aren't yours-
your words are mine
and mine are yours.
Writing to be antidepressed,
because singing is for the shore,
for your shore.

Let's pick each other's psychology,
like we're removing clothes
or missing ads,
and get lost in each other's darkness,
because, "I love you,
I suppose.
I suppose."

There are pleas
that disguise themselves
in trees
that whisper in the dark-
Like a crinkle in a kiss,
or the words that you'll miss;
too late for meds,
too late for sleep
this time.

We ride on the beaches
with cool kids and leeches.
We **** blow off the ground
because there are times you feel,
and some you fake
when everyone is around.
The bodies in red
that you leave in your head.

The trees tesellate
into nooses and goodbyes.
And I swear this isn't the first time
that you've loved me
like it's the last time;
when I've been something to lose.
The love you have
is the love you refuse.

Your cries are milk-
I wish your cancer was mine.
To be a mistake.
To be left behind.

We're twenty-one and we shouldn't be.
We make love like there's jealousy-
We hide in reflections because we
assume we'll live forever.
There's a hotel inside of our eyes,
where we live in a disintegrating atmosphere-
people are seasons,
as the cars gather in front of what used to be here.
I didn't know we were old,
until I watched the skin fall
off your bones
and onto my body.

We can tell them to *******,
and to believe in you and me.
Tell them we're twenty-one,
and I loved you
despite every time you'd cheat.
Can I tell them that you're not a hotel
and that my stay can be more fleeting-
Why do they say that
I'm terrified of what you'd hide
and that you're the one that's leaving?

Fringe-love superstar,
I loved you so much that it left a scar.
Elephant memories,
get away from me.
The Hotel Lauren is for making love
out of jealousy-
Tell them to *******
and to believe in you and me.
I want to tell them that I'm different.
I want to tell them that my love is pure.
I want to tell them that I'm different.
I want to tell them that I'm more.

In a dark and distant galaxy-
Upon a new world I seek-
You're healthy and smiling-
because, because, because, because
there is nothing as romantic
as dying on your kitchen floor-
There is nothing romantic
about waiting for you
to come home
from war.

Daughter, daughter
on the wall-
Why'd you let your picture fall?
Killing yourself for instant
pseudo-safety-
Killing yourself for nothing, maybe-
But the gun is still pretend enough
to put into your mouth and bluff
And say that no one can
save you now-
because, because, because, because:

You are your own lover
and you are your own daughter.
And you're left in hot water
but you stay in to try to forget
that you're cold inside.
And you drown yourself
so you can hide.

The tree of life grows in a graveyard-
With my hands around the air,
I imagine you over there-
Sitting under the branches,
inhaling abuse
and
exhaling cursive.

Xeroxed vitals on paperplanes
Crashing into window panes
Broken-heart blisters and voyeuristic veins
Appear and create transparent glass stains
Blue-Green grass on the other side
Laying there, our fathers died
Dreams and streams of alcohol
Run from their mouths with no control.
Shaking, breaking, no where to decompose
Skin peeling off of worn down toes.
Tell me where their love goes
Tell me where their love goes
Everything turned into gun-shy eyes
Blue-lipped Sunday surprise
Bodies breaking into waiting
This is nothing but carbon dating
Bottles breaking of ***** that's so clear
That I won't see until they're near
God and Jesus in picture frames
Suburban families with jungle brains
Broken homes and replacement Brad's
401 k's and missing ads
Finding our homes that aren't so black and white
Let us sleep in our dreams tonight
Validation through our existence
Is dead but still our resistance

The words I can't help but repeat
makes every line feel so incomplete.
The bones under alabaster skin shake.
She whispers,
"Be calm, this is no time to quake."

I don't know what I did
to bring myself to this place.
They ask me how I feel
and I say, "I need some space."

To you that you can't recall,
to love her is to love most of all.
I try to rearrange how I feel
and I allow you to take the wheel.

You can cause a wreck-
I said, "You can cause a wreck."
And I promise to pull you from the debris
because that's what you did for me.

Chestnu-uh-uh-uh-ut.
Chestnu-uh-uh-uh-ut.

I don't know what I did
to bring myself to this place.
They ask how I feel
and I say, "I need some space."

To put myself together
in puzzle pieces, forever.
To try to solve a ******
when the victim is the killer.

Chestnu-uh-uh-uh-ut.
Chestnu-uh-uh-uh-ut.

The words I can't help but repeat
make me feel so incomplete.
I let the words escape
and I promise myself I won't break.

They ask me what is wrong.
I say, "Everything about this song."
I feel so helpless and weak,
I couldn't sing this, let alone speak.

The rhyme scheme isn't diverse.
I say, "Take a look at this verse.
And I'm not sure if it has a bridge,
or that anyone knows I'm at Chestnut Ridge."

Chestnu-uh-uh-uh-ut.
Chestnu-uh-uh-uh-ut.

The words I can't help but repeat,
make me feel so broken down.
Alabaster bones shake.
She whispers,
"Please don't stop looking now."