Its 4 A.M. and I'm listening to another obscure indie band I think you'd like.
The Album in question is appropriately named:
People Who Can Eat People Are The Luckiest People in The World.
Apparently, we all have bad people inside us.
Rapists, Nazis, Politicians, all crowded inside our tiny hearts.
No more room for compassion.
I guess we eat our issues and stuff them there,
Like some sort of factory.
Maybe that's how evil is created.
Stories for another time i guess?
Its 5 A.M. and I still miss you.
The Next Album on my playlist is titled Hospice.
I suppose that's a way to say how i feel.
So close to giving up, just comfortably dying.
He keeps saying that he's sorry.
I'm not sure what for.
I'll send you another Playlist later today.
Maybe you will hear my screams in between the upbeat guitar
and crashing of drums that is my tired body and soul.
Maybe you can tell me what i don't understand.
Do the Impossible.
Fix me.
Its 6 A.M. and the music has shifted to Button Poetry broadcasts
Neil Hilborn and Reagan Meyers clash against Sabrina Benaim
all of them saying the same thing without speaking the same words.
"Broken does not mean useless"
"Depression is not a means to an end"
"You cant fix some things with paper and pens"
They all scream their emotions into an open mic, the feedback cries with resounding applause, hollow but sweet.
It's 7 A.M. and i'm still here.
Still silently screaming.
I pray that my words reach your deaf ears.