This is a shout out to this season
and its amused ****** expression
as it taunts me and my need for a fix.

I can't wait
to not live in a morgue.

But I seem to be
all the time.

If anyone is looking for a neck-rub,
today's the time.
Dead guys don't seem to enjoy them
these days.

I miss the feeling of
fuzzy animals rubbing against my leg
and my heart
and all the other happy feelings.

The killers are callin' on me,
and when I realized it
there was a **** ton of screaming
by only one person.

And I used to be sick
of my new apartment
because it was an empty barrel
that made the loudest sound.

And it looks like we cracked
a second after
I crawled into my hole,
not understanding why
anyone would want me
like a big deal.

I'm not interested in a great first show
or keeping my friends close.

I'm just interested in the evils in my life.

Posing upon a pedestal
bare and broken.

See my silhouette
in the spotlight.

Life isn't La Vie En Rose
anymore.

Just a slumber party duet--
naked upon the rock bottom floor.

I don't feel like
any kind of person.

I'm a fan,
letting all the ashes rush.

I'm a fan,
but not an addict.

I'm a fan,
creating movement of the wind.

I'm a fan,
but not an enthusiast.

I'm just trying to show people
how things are;
not how they should be.

I'm unique.
I'm too unique.

I'm a mover
and there's movement everywhere.

Move with me.