Do I Trust My Heart or My Mind?

Can someone in the Dallas TX area please let us throw a house show tonight?

Dust and bones. Days and nights, and years on the ropes. Sunrise, sunset. It’s never enough. The things that we’re taught. The lives that we live. The deaths that we’re dealt. It’s all coming undone. The walls are rotting from the inside. Some arrangement of life. My discord, My strife. This is our life. Lived from the inside of a cloudy window. When forever is never enough. When we’ve waste all our time looking for better ways out. Chills looking for the next spine to crawl up. Chokes looking for the next neck to hold up. A new cancer under the breath of grace, in our own grand scheme of all bound things. I want pride, and I want beauty under no remorse. Under no such stake. I’m so afraid of the things I can’t change. As in the way lighting steals the life from a tree. Long before is ever ready to leave. I hope everyone forgets my name. Take me back to when alone was all we were. Back when every day wasn’t a blessing we didn’t deserve.

I’m starting to think that every day is the same. That I missed the plot, and all the scenes came and changed. What happened to having nothing to prove for every night i’ve spent all alone in my room? Making war on my own self worth. At a loss that no one can afford. I’m starting to believe that all joy is measured under the weight of regret. Stored and strung from every single person I have ever met. (What  if) I crashed my car off the side of a bridge to feel whats like to be alive; not just to live. Spent the night at the bottom of a lake, collecting dust for just one hour of sleep. I have a knack for slipping through the cracks in the floor. Just as soon as my problems won’t face themselves anymore. My own routine. My own selfish encore. I’ve picked apart everything that meant something to me. Memories of home, of all my friends, and family. Every day is the same. 

Happiness doesn’t visit me anymore. Just sadness knocks on my door, and it sings me to sleep.

Flashback to 1999, It’s the spring, not a cloud in the sky.
Present day, things have changed, spring’s almost over and it rains here every day.
We all make mistakes from time to time. Unfortunately, for me, being me was mine.
But how so? I’m only 21 years old. I used to be so happy.

At least now I know you never liked talking to me or hanging out with me.

I love you, I hate you.

That was mean. U r mean.