Phone rings.
Who is it?
Caller ID:
Unavailable.
Well, so am I.

why can't i write about happy things?
i want to tell of love,
of breathless nights, and twinkling stars
of soft grass and beautiful sunlight
but the words will not come
the phrases don't string themselves together
all that i can tell of is the hurt
of the days of being lost and forgotten
of the loneliness that overwhelms me
i know this world is beautiful
but it won't reveal itself to me anymore

Stepping in front of a car has never struck me as w**reckless.

You stab me in the back with a knife,
and I apologize for bleeding on it.

When are you coming back?

We are all God
We are All
We Are
We

I like songs with rough edges
   Ones that sound like they were created
in the dusty corners of someone’s garage
    Songs that were recorded with ancient
                                  and ailing equipment
          That play back fuzzy and distorted
            Songs that are raw and unfinished
             Songs with unharnessed emotion

They aren’t mellow or soothing
They offend with every beat
They have corners and sharp spines
They cut and tear with each chord

                    I like songs with rough edges
Because they can pierce through my skin
                           My shields are powerless
       All defenses are rendered ineffective
                                          I am left exposed

I like songs with rough edges
Because they force me to feel
        The things I had locked out
        The things I have been so afraid of letting in
        The things that remind me that I'm only human


                   I like songs with rough edges

                                                         That match my own