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I use random songs as writing prompts to sort of purge emotions buried in my brains. I didn't really want to keep another blog: and I don't update often because of this. There's a sick, sad sort of voyeuristic delight that some take when people openly write, and I'm just not sure how to balance the yearning for self expression vs the primal hatred of that. My life isn't an episode of the Truman Show, it's not reality tv: it's just my life.





While I'd love to say there's nothing about me that you don't know: the truth is for all of my lovely disclosures- you have still yet only scratched the surface.

You're walking in the fog outside of a bridge
the bridge is that which leads you there
You're so busy admiring the water rushing by

The blood sort of trickles through my veins
The heart still beating just the same

Oh dear don't you know that I'd give anything
To have you touch them both and look at me the same.

Ah, well.