Sometimes I drive to feel fine, to feel alive, to feel anything at all. And the seat beside me is often empty, but it's okay because I drive to not feel lonely.

But sometimes the seat fills with people, with things- often notebooks and pens. Not pencils. And these people change, they up and leave. Say goodbye and never look back.

But it's okay, because I was just driving to drive anyway. Sometimes in silence and sometimes with the crackle of the stereo. Mostly though the sounds of bands that have helped me feel less lonely.

And in the backseat is usually a guitar. And it's not always in a case. And windows down. Key in ignition always. Never mind when I'm not around.

I'm not hanging around.

I'm done hoping that you're choking on every single thing you ever did. I'm regretting my forgetting that I loved you more than I could admit. And it's troubling that your bubbling over with words seem to have stalled. I would tell you, if it could save you, I don't think it's your fault

We traded car rides for skylines in cities we never share.
And when I'm driving I'm still wishing that you were there.
Wrapped in a blanket, or my jacket, and playing with your hair.
We'd go on adventures, roads open. I'll take you anywhere.

I write uncomfortable poems
I write a bit too much about death
And of these feelings so familiar
And about how she would cut her ******* wrists

And how she would call and recount the horror; I can recall the shaking of her breath
And how every word seemed to break like thunder over telephone lines
And how she'd curse her name with razor blades
And how the feeling of helplessness always kept me awake.

And I write disasters down on paper
And about what else life has left
And of these destructive behaviors
To forget my own, I write out hers

They say it's good to see me smile
And how they haven't seen it in a while

And they ask about my writing-
Am I still troubled and alone.
"Are you still writing about cutting?"
Am I still afraid of all these ghosts?

No, I don't think so.

I might be troubled, but I'm not lonely
I was never afraid to be alone

And I write of self harm because it comes easy

I must have reread your letter about a couple dozen times
In my car with the air on and two windows down.
You said you'd taken my jacket and shouldn't leave my car unlocked.
You said people like you would come around, but I think maybe not enough.
And I love driving recklessly all across the town
And some'd say its a waste of gas and time, but it's not a waste of mine
And I love it when you're next to me telling me stories of your life
I love it even more when it's the half a millionth time
I would trade in all my old regrets for all of your secrets
And I would give you my whole heart if you'd take care of it
And I think about you often in the middle of the of night
I wonder every moment if I, too, am on your mind

There's a laziness with which you speak
There's an apathy
That seems so easy
Ambition is not part of your routine

We're not looking for excuses
     We're not looking for anything at all
We're not waiting for the end of times to be
Cause we're feeling restless
Feeling desperate
Can you feel this yet?

You lie awake at night counting sheep
Through bloodshot eyes; are you feeling weak?
There's a world outside of this
And it's crumbling quickly

I'm feeling like the hero in a Salinger book
Dodging your questions and all your ***** looks.

And when you turn the next page
I'll wish things'd stayed the same.
Between the lines about last year
And this year's opening phrase.

Every feeling I've carved
In with a pen
Dragged across paper
And threw in the trash bin.

What a waste of my time
Can I please waste yours?
I'm sitting on front steps
And knocking on back doors.

It's a perfect day for bananafish
It's a perfect day to feel alive
It's a perfect day for bananafish
It's a perfect night

And at times,
I feel like I've changed.
Learned all my lessons
And shouldered all the blame.

But I know,
It's a feeling short lived.
I'll give up the ghost
And let bitterness sink in.

And I'm sure
By the end of the night,
I'll have plans to call you
But those plans just won't feel right.

It's a thing
I know I'll regret
But you'll get married next year,
so I might as well forget.

Raise high the roofbeam, carpenters
We'll make the house come crashing down
Raise high the roofbeam, carpenters
I'm bringing it down

And so we keep waltzing in, walking out, and hardly keeping up with our lives. And I can't say it's fair to you or to me but when we talk we're really just sitting quiet. Like the damage was done and then healed but left us scarred and alone. Are we so disfigured from this relationship that it will keep us so afraid of love?

And when that love turns to hate or just disdain and maybe apathy, can we keep it all quiet and think "this surely isn't happening." To me, my friends, and my life, and the ground beneath me all are shattering. And if you're feeling the same, can we be missing out on everything?

Why is it always this way between the people who care and myself and all these walls I place? Why can't I look you in the eye and say you matter but my actions aren't reacting straight?

And so you'll say your goodbyes after waltzing in, you're walking out. Don't keep touch.

We sat in half lit empty corners in the basements of friends' houses
Wondering where these thoughts would take us, but they only brought me down
I feel an emptiness now, I felt that same emptiness then
We sang of all our petty anger that we thought would never end

But see, I've shouted out from rooftops, and at the top of my lungs
Spitting blood and venom from the most poisonous of tongues
We felt our sudden death encroaching, felt it pushing us aside
Dragging us by our wrist, and setting love on fire

We're burning down the lie we've been believing that we're never burning out

We're breaking bones, but we're not dying, breaking hearts but we're not crying
Breaking down, we're breaking out, we're breaking free from our desires We're ******* up, we're getting ******, but I know we're not giving up
Not giving in, we're spitting in the face of faith, love and denial

We were waiting for a life time for a life well worth our time
But all we found were shades of gray in the corners of our minds
And so we hung ourselves from nooses as we were falling from the stars Crying out to heaven, screaming, “God, here we are.”

But I could swear He wasn't listening, I could swear He wasn't there
I was left quietly alone, alone in my despair

And so the prayers: they turned to silence, and that silence turned to anger
And my anger wore a bitter heart, and my bitter heart wore all my anger
So I fell away from hoping, and all my friends were strangers
And I knew that I was empty, and so stopped looking for the answers