because you're empty and im empty

 wooden floors creaking,
slick with shine from the blood spilling from those veins. thin layers of skin that threaten to release.

the tv signals flicker between whispers and static. there is no clear definition between awake and on the verge of dreams. if you know anything about me everything is a dream. robotic controls take over the body, or at least what was of a body. you consider if this is shallow or deep. but remember, everything is a dream. i dream of you next to me but i also dream of driving through the night to georgia just to get out of this shitty town. major flaws lie awake in the segments of your spine displayed under my fingers.

dream of me

me vs the teenage years

 ive been convinced to believe crappy shows packed into a sweaty basement like a can of sardines is the best place to be on a friday night. where microphone static echoes through the speakers, lasting a split second before being beckoned into song. mosh pits turn into a humiliation ritual of blood and damp beads of sweat clinging to clothes.

i dont have the flexibility to play guitar. i sold my drumset. i have an average singing voice. there seems to be no future that i seem to try to manifest in my words. there will be no band, no books. my pen only writes dreams that form from other people's success.