this same accidental art, and dearest friend:

oh give me chemical, chemical.
this has no reason or rhyme, it will just come.
but sod the formalities.

I cannot write like you, but if you will humor me, I’ll tell you what I know.

If you scratch my surface, I will be smiling when I see you. I bring people together through my music and sometimes controversial conversations, and I am always willing to purchase a cassette of what I think you might like. I have an impeccable ear for pitch, and I strive to excel in school. The trunk of my car is always messy, even when I clean the rest of it. I like to take pictures as much as anyone else, and though I have black hair, I am energetic and often the center of a burst of laughter.

There is something I can’t share as easily. More often than not, there is a bloody plethora of ideas/tensions/confusion/pain circling around between my ears, and I do not know how to get it out. I can be curt with you, I can be rude, reactive, seemingly unfeeling, or distant, but I cannot articulate what’s there. There is something at work that prevents me from simply conveying what I need to. You, soul, know what's there-what has us smiling genuine one moment and writhing in rose agony the next... This seductive demon muse who whispers foul nothings in our ear and waits for us to crack- It’s the biggest mother fucking curse, and it falls on someone like me, who needs to communicate and impart and connect. Why would God place such a passion inside, an utter lust to share their thoughts, in someone without the gift of expression? God, why?
(the best part is, that on the surface, they see how I wear my heart on my sleeve. I don’t, actually. If they just only knew.)


What I’m writing is bullshit, nothing more than you view of yours, but you understand how sometimes, if you don’t throw it up anyway, the pacifying alternatives hurt more than just yourself.

The worst is, I could get there. I could be close to conveying a beauty, something worth while, something bigger than this. But Christ how? My music now, is mediocre. Decent at best. But that’s not the pain-the pain is what I could be and that i cannot ascertain how to reach it.

Then there are the post-demons. I am haunted by the memories, like you. The conglomeration of bleeding out from the release, having something so precious stolen at 19 on the trunk of a car, and, following the loss, freely giving what was meant to be so different-and now writhing and weeping on the floor of the shower, the face wet so as to hide the truth in the face-Oh Christ, what have we become?

And now, oh God, the courage of my memory. Do you see it? She’s still singing-

Catch your breath hit the wall scream out loud as you start to crawl back in your cage
The only place where they will leave you alone
Because the weak will seek the weaker until they've broken them
Could you get it back again
Would it be the same fulfillment to their lack of strength
At your expense, left you with no defense they tore it down and
I have felt the same as you, I've felt the same as you, I've felt the same

Locked inside the only place
Where you feel sheltered where you feel safe
YOU LOST YOURSELF IN YOUR SEARCH TO FIND,
SOMETHING ELSE TO HIDE BEHIND
The fearful always preyed upon your confidence
Did they see the consequence when they pushed you around
The arrogant build kingdoms made of the different ones
Breaking them 'til they've become just another crown

Refuse to feel, Anything at all refuse to slip, Refuse to fall
Can't be weak, Can't stand still you watch your back,
Because no one will...
You don't know why they had to go this far
TRADED YOUR WORTH FOR THESE SCARS, YOUR ONLY COMPANY-
Don't believe the lies that they told to you
Not one word was true you're alright, You're alright,
You're alright

and i leave you with this bloody bandage and yet unmistakable will:

Because the Screams of Romeo Are No Longer Heard, And Because this Daphne Was So Cruel, I Cannot Scream Loud Enough.

But, because the truth will not stand hidden, hope in God, for I shall again praise Him.