You will never stream...

I'm sitting in this bed, lost. I have nothing except this music and the residual effects of the alcohol that I came home with. I have all of these women on my mind. The one I am with, the one that I want, the one that I think I can have, and the one that lays in my lap. At least I have this music.

I’m your passenger

So I try to dream of something else while I sit awake here in this bed I didn’t buy in this room I don’t pay for in this apartment I cant afford. Does it ever work, I wonder, all of this thinking? It never seems to, but that never seems to stop me. So I keep dreaming, in the darkness of the soul with all of the fears and phobias and trepidations that control and contain us all. She still lays silently, barely bothered by my thoughts…

did you hear your favorite song one last time

And I sit here with wrists that hurt from cuts that weren’t from suicide attempts but still so many people worry so much about the darkness that I vent...

you know that I could use somebody

So never mind the fight that I had tonight. Never mind the fights that I’ve had ever. Never mind that I beat his head into the pavement again and again and again. Never mind what I said to her tonight. I never meant a word of it, even though I meant every single fucking word.

you carry on like some kind of god

So I had a good night tonight? What of it? Should I suffer for that? The only thing we can attempt to do is enjoy this brief time we have. So you cannot tell me it’s a goddamn sin to attempt to. I will make sure my stories are worth telling, even when you don’t want to hear them. I will make sure they are all worth telling to anyone who will listen to me with their whiskey in their hands,

so maybe tomorrow

So she lays in my bed, content. She has been with me for a while now, but she still is happy when I come home. She still can’t argue much when I go out without her. She always welcomes me back. She always stays here.

these changes ain’t changing me

So I sit here with my slit wrists, that weren’t slit by suicide or any cliché or any other fucking dream you could come up with. I sit here with my cuts and scars. I sit here with my own darkness. A soldier fighting his own war.

six minutes down

So there really isn’t a statement to be made, when everything has been said. But that doesn’t mean there’s no reason to be pissed off. And when she said that everything would be ok, you believed it. You believed it all. So what the fuck are you going to say now?

you used to think that it was so easy

There really are no worries though. We imagine them in our heads, We have these fake conversations. We talk about anything and everything we can imagine. We scream about plans that seem so practical. We dream about lives that are so practical.

right where I belong, just hanging on

I drink myself to sleep.