Is there a reason I always find myself in this same mess, lost and scared and feeling so distressed? I want to find a balance between apathy and misery, or maybe this is all that was meant for me. But I am sick of this place. I want something better. I want to feel the sense of accomplishment. I want to abandon all my misjudgements, but there's no rest for the wicked and I have become... Theres no solace in solitude when your own thoughts are enough to kill you, when your own thoughts are enough to do you in, and that's my sin. 1,000 lies built on all the things that I've been too scared to admit. But I'm getting better...at least, that's what I would like to think, 'cause I'm spinning and I'm losing my whole sense of control, and I am giving up on hope, and I can feel myself growing old.

You told me that you love me. Well, baby, I'm sorry. I don't feel the same way that you do for me. I thought we could be together for a while. I was wrong, so very wrong. It ain't working out for me. So I send my salutations. So I send my goodbyes. So I send my message: "This is the end. It's time to let it go, baby. Goodbye." Well, I took you to the drive-in just after I learned drivin'. It was THEN, but it's NOW. Now, I know you don't interest me. I though that you mighta been worthy of my time. I know you're sad, so very sad, but you know?, it don't bother me, oh, so I send my salutations. So I send my goodbyes. So I send my message: "This is the end. It's time to let it go, baby. Don't cry." I'm gonna leave you now before I die. So I send my salutations. So I send my goodbyes. So I send my message: "This is the end. It's time to let it go, baby. Don't cry." I'm gonna leave you for may reasons why. Aw, don't beg me baby, please, you'll make me sigh. I ain't interested in you, I ain't gonna lie. We'd better be better off before I die.

At what point did I fall down and not pick myself back up? I don't want to say it's all bad, but it's pretty rough. I don't claim to know anything, but it seems obvious to me I can't keep this behaviour going much past 23. Call me garbage and I won't say that you're wrong - call me beautiful, I'll write your a silly, stupid song, and try to pick me up I can't promise that I won't resist. I've got to do this for myself. I've got to do this. I made a list of all the things that I believe to be true, but all I've got so far is that I'm really into you. And writing songs ain't always easy, but it's sure worth the time. All I need is a good guitar solo and you by my side. Call me irresponsible, point out I'm always miserable, and I will probably agree. But I could never call it quits except for maybe cigarettes. I've got to quit the things that are slowly killing me. Oh, at what point did I fall down and not pick myself back up I don't want to say it's all bad, but it's pretty rough. Hang out in the morning, wake up early, get coffee. I don't want to stay up all night alone with my whiskey.

Grew up in a nearly perfect home. I had a nearly perfect family. I guess I had a nearly perfect life, but I was never one for nearly perfect. Yes, I love my family, but I knew home-steadiness would not suffice. Then I gave my life to drugs around the age of 18: I started taking pills and smoking too much pot. Still living in the town I hated, made easy by getting wasted. I thought I'd leave by now, but I guess not. So, I worked a bunch of shitty jobs and wasted all my cash - told myself that I'm happy to be poor. Then I moved in with a guy I knew, got me a room at Copy Cat, time to start my new life here in Baltimore. But I kept a grip on shit from that old town. Can't build a life if you're never around. Ended up back at some, said "I think it's time to leave," so I started working harder all the time, but I was still spending too much of my hard-earned on drugs, so I wound up never saving a dime. Then I moved back to Baltimore to try 'cause we've only got a short time before we die. So I'll just have to learn how to get by, 'cause I don't want to die here and I don't want to survive here. It could be such a wonderful life. I've got to quit doing drugs. I've got to stop smoking cigarettes and getting so drunk. I could move to Philadelphia or take the next train out of this town. I could live on the road or work on a boat, I've just got to get out! Living with the glass half empty - all that really means is that I'll never settle for less than complete, though I'm not being pessimistic, just not wasting time on bullshit. No longer accepting "unsatisfactory." I'll never have the perfect home. There's too much world to see. I'd rather keep myself moving until I die. But I don't need a perfect home 'cause I have got my family and the willingness to always try.

Every second I'm alone I think of you, or something, like how much I hate my own self. I try so hard to fill my mind with education while dust collects upon my bookshelf. I try not to let myself get hung up over nothing, but we see how well that turns out. I feel so lonely, even when I'm doing something. Trapped in this house, I've got to get out. I'm unhappy "all thanks to you" is what I could have said, but I could never give up on you, so I'll take up the effort. We are all living with the burden of existence, walking through spirals every day. But let's make it woth it - live a good life while we get to, even without a judgement day. What stops us from killing ourselves? The need to be. The need to be happy. And that's okay with me. Let's try to be happy. Let's do it for ourselves. We ought to be. We ought to be free! Oh, yeah! :-)

I saw you around campus the other day. I overheard you playing a bitchin' solo. I walked over to you and said "Hello." It was the only thing that I could think to say, and then I said "My name is (FAILNESS). How do you do? What's your name again? I never got the chance to ask you out in advance. I'd love to, but only if that's what you're into." You saw me out here the other day and you overheard me complaining about nothing new: "Fuck Fox News!" You came over to say hello ("Hi! <3"), but then I scared you away screaming something about mind-control. I opened my mouth and I said "Girl, are you woke as fuck? Don't you know our lives are run by rich oligarchs who make up less than 1% of the U.S. population but control over 90% of all of the wealth?" ("Shit!")