Butterflies in my stomach coming for my throat
I'll never be afraid of speaking up ever again

I use melancholy like currency
it's the cost of creating what my mouth can't mutter
and then I'm ready for another hit
back swimming in beautiful, sparkling gutters
and I know I can't claim this feeling,
I just know what it means to me
and I want to feel seen
but I'm still wondering if you even hear me
so give me more melancholy
give me enough of it,
and my creations are practically screaming
if you know how to speak the language of my art
you'd know my heart
and while I haven't figured out a way to translate it
I think some might get it
and perhaps that's enough for me to keep going
I just need another hit

walking barefoot
in between changes of scenery
ribs that creak like floorboards,
and I wonder if you hear me
I'm sorry if I'm disturbing,
I'm not accustomed to doing the haunting
I want to stay a little longer if you'll let me
before it all starts disappearing

Sold my soul for a warm body to lay next to
some call that codependence
I call it no direction
after a season of depression
falling head straight in to the dirt
and into the arms of whoever grabs you first
cuffing season is definitely a thrill
where we're all out for the ****
we want it all to stay the same
we can't accept everything's changed
on the other side of the darkness
why did I think anyone would be there waiting
I'm not the only one who's changing

Spring fever hit me like a ton of bricks today...
I fell into it like it was meant to be, so I'm okay.
I've been dreaming of a humid summer night...
the kind right before the dark takes the light.
I'm waiting on a beautiful grassy scene...
I don't even mind the allergic reaction on my knees.
I'm in the grass, I'm in the breeze--tension released.
I'm a big fan of daydreaming.

shame is the keeper of the keys
decides what can't be decided for me
I have free will, but shame makes it look unreal
just out of reach, hard to please
because shaming is easier
than showing an ounce of vulnerability
but there's something about a dirt road
that gives me the ability
to turn my lens on something that channels it all
into something deeper that shame can't touch
my art is my strength, even if it's a crutch
my vulnerability flows like an open sea
curls your hair with an air that's salty
you can touch me when I'm there
I've got art flowing through me and the ends of my hair
I want to find a way to keep that state of mind
until then I'll keep chasing the high

My dreamland
is never soft or warm
but I find comfort in it still