i go to loud places in the nights we don't talk,
and sit at open tables with myself and peeled cuticles,
chipped green nail polish, and more rings than brain cells -
(i don't belong here.)
i go to loud places and i think about myself,
not in an ego, romantic way, more so in the way that i
end up at my own worst comedy roast -
(i think everything's wrong with me.)
i go to loud places and i stare at beautiful women,
how her skin looks so soft, blonde and dewy,
dancing over Katranada, with perfect lip filler -
(i think you'd talk to her.)
i go to loud places and i want to be alone,
search for someone to be quiet with who might relish
in my quick wit and peaceful violence -
(i still feel less interesting.)
i go to loud places and look bored and afraid,
and most times i am - as soon as i arrive i pack up whats left,
find the nearest exist, and ignore my shouting friends -
(i don't think they care.)
i go to loud places and i think about you,
even when i try not to, men buy me drinks and ask me things
but they don't get through, can't escape the truth -
(i wish i were with you),
i go to loud places and wonder why i choose not to.