but i know there's no ghost on this island
cause his hands would be all covered in bud
not much else but a sight for the red eyed
a reality that seems real enough

everything you could want you can find by the beach
but after the music stops it seems everything dies
I've had my fun but I know its so empty
think i’ll just lay here until the sunrise

the dark waves of the night try to calm me
a drunk drag, lungs swell with liquid black
drowning in these thoughts on this island
hoping the waves will carry me back

Hello, New Year, will you be kind?
I doubt it, I doubt you, and this is why:

Last year you were cruel, you ripped good from Earth
You watched tragedies happen without a bit of shame.
You couldn't be bothered to reverse your stroll, reverse time
And that doesn't change simply because you changed your name.

here's to:
my first kiss (and first everything, really),
my friends who can't take their masks off,
my friends who never wear any mask,
my family that's getting better,
my financial problem which doesn't get better (yet),
my neighbor who yelled at me for making out in front of her house,
my mom who has kicked depression's ****,
my sister who has kicked cancer's ****,
my father who's still kicking and kicking,
my grandma's and grandpa who supply me with food,
my significant other who's laying on his bed at his home in Australia,
my online friends who never forget about me,
my followers here, and on twitter, and on tumblr,
and every single one of you who's reading this right now,

happy new year.

It seems now, still, and into forever, meaning and being
arrive incorrectly, deciphered through perspective lacking

the cosmic kind of clarity you think we'd be preaching by now
but here I stand, represented by death and persecution,
******, abuse and defamation, stuck in limbo, curtains half-drawn
waiting to see if I'm one -- winding up just another number

Tell me, have you seen it?
Exposure in drip-drop?
Even though shown, so slightly shone, less than any other broadcast
Lasting less than any length of time divining prime time due process

Still we receive clapped hands and stop,
how could we dare intrude living rooms
and man caves, "Man, flip that tab back to Vine,
let me disintegrate." It seems I live to die in
higher percentage and end the show to
indignation. Happy Anniversary.