Sometimes People

Sometimes people want to understand me; but I push them off because how can they? When I don't even understand myself.

The piano is not firewood yet, (but the cold does get cold so) it soon might be that.

Everyone knows it's going to hurt; but at least you'll get hurt trying.

My God, have I mentioned how much I love Prufrock?

I oftentimes wonder how an artist sits in his studio and thinks of concepts:

Concept records (The Wall by Pink Floyd; you know the rest)

or how drunk men become bums with names.

How do people write?

The human heart will always just be red leather, yellow leather.

True Romance

True romance is dead; I shot it in the chest then in the head.

I really miss 2007, when I had short, choppy hair; a Panic! At The Disco vinyl I couldn't play; and friends when I didn't think I had them.

Now my hair is long.

Now I play Jim Croce on Saturdays and forget to turn the record-player off. And my dad yells.

Now I think I have friends when I don't.

Now it seems like everyone is a stranger, and I've never really met or known anyone at all--no that's not it at all.

Now I just read Prufrock or Gone with the Wind.

What I like right now:

Just so you know, you'll never know.

We drown traitors in shallow water.

They call kids like us vicious and carved out of stone; from what we've become, it just feels more alone.

Even when there's nothing worth living for, you're still worth lying for.

She said she said why don't you just drop dead?

Last year's wishes are this year's apologies.

Two out of three ain't bad.

New York eyes, Chicago thighs.

The truth hurts worse than anything I could bring myself to do you.

I have measured out my life in coffee spoons.

I keep my jealousy close because it's all mine.

Turn off the shyness.

Oh, the way your makeup stains my pillowcase like I'll never be the same.

Choose love or sympathy, both never both. Love never wanted me; but I took it anyway.