I'm on the bus going to the airport, the view's pretty cool.
My mind looks like a writers paper when they have writers block.
I'm not scared of much anymore, just faces in my heart turning into gaps.
I'm waiting for a spark of creativity but I can't seem to light anything right now.
I feel like an empty lighter waiting for a miracle to happen, hoping to light a nicotines addict cigarette.
I wonder why time tends to fast forward when I finally realize and cherish.
The plane ride is going to be a *****.
Not the one with big ***** at least .
Nothing a ***** boy can get.