Indifferent
Well-known member
Hey,
Art's kind of my life and for the past two years it's all been about music for me. Day and Night. I've been aggressively learning the guitar, pushing through my first band which just ended two months ago, and doing stuff on my own when I have nobody around; which is most of the time and the now. I'm really into Punk, more the method than anything, and pretty well-rounded taste. When I'm not discovering new stuff, listening to my 10,000 track itunes, or learning from the masters by helping out at the local record store; I'm trying to write. When my friend really upset and kind of bailed on me I wrote this EP called "The Loneliest Boy of All" on a typewriter in my parents basement on a weekend visit. Figured it was pretty fitting to post here. I was listening to a lot of Front Bottoms so it's fairly Pop-Punk bias and I'd recommend reading at a medium to fast tempo.
Hope you like it!
Untitled #1
Days. These days. Only last a few select hours. While the nights never seem to truly end.
A record skips- on a turntable- off the center of this dreary room that's come apart again. Shades pulled, illuminated from the TV, blue walls and blue dirty dishes. DVDs are scattered, broken out their boxes, like the bottles that lay where they fell empty. You sing loudly, with whimpering laughter, to the blood all over the walls. Longings on your hands, up your wrists, painting your face. Too bad your declaration means nothing. All that is known, is to leave you alone, which I don't, and it hurts to see our reflection.
It's your choice, developed out of consciousness and loneliness. Indecisiveness is what keeps us apart. And you proclaim confusion to what I admit to not doing like you're ruling over our Petoria. I know you're screwed up, from an excess of deviation, I'd never claim to be about. I only get what I see through action, and reaction, and the insults you couldn't hurl my way.
Surly you don't think I'm illiterate. And after we've talked at length about our passions hows it more important not to care? Well my intentions- and executions- were always out of conviction, friendship, naïvety, whether we agree to disagree. I'm not here- to be needy. I just honestly thought- you liked me. I don't say hateful things because I don't think them. And I never made fun of your broken heart. Which if you forget- was always the reason- both of us needed to hangout. And I always went out of my way- because I wanted to. Please, tell me again- how grateful you are. So you can repeat how much you're ******* bored.
I'll keep making corrections to my inferior complexions and you keep being who you are.
Untitled #2
Always be careful how you say what you say. Saying anything anyway gives leverage away. Know your words, memorize the dictionary, make the blame never yours. There's a downside, hard to rationalize, if you remember what you've done to your unfortunate loved ones.
You cant compare sadness to misery, depression to depression, as was taught to me. Keep your nose out of our business, you barely even know us, don't you sign our years away. Like any of you see how you act. You pretentious bastards cant accept- I don't want what you have.
Is this really all there is? Your relationships don't mean honeysuckle. How do you stay together when neither of you want something better for the other? Don't tell me how it's convenient. How love is irrelevant. Like growing up is a justification for dealing damage. You don't deserve what you've gotten. If there's not the respect to be taken to heart.
Then again... But then again... I don't know what I'm talking about. Perhaps, perhaps, it's for the better after all. Even if you're in separate boats- You've got the same harbor. You've got the same harbor. You've got the same harbor. This moment will haunt me forever.
Untitled #3
What a long drive, you and I, have under taken. I really think, today, has worked. I don't recall that name being said at all. I think we'll tie this off and finally start mending.
Oh, Wait. What have I done? How could this day end so backwards? With tears in my eyes, horrific lies, and a hole in my pocket. Have I always been in the wrong? Is listening some dog and pony show? No wonder- everyone- hates me.
Insecurity's an STD, that flares up sporadically, and I can't stand treatment and cant trust self-medicating. When the flaw runs so deep, that it causes an absence of sleep, and panic- like when you saw her and she smiled. What's there to do? But keep working at a selfish world too askew for two- where helping others causes psychotic breakdowns.
Oh, Wait. Truth intrudes. How could I have been so rude to expect hard work to mean working out. Stop sabotaging yourself- with thoughts that don't help. There's her name again- I've brought her out of time- so we could romanticize some perfect existence. Like decisions fell from out the sky just to destroy the fantasy you needed. Unrealistic expectations- flow easily from your tongue into where ever it goes... I'm only interested in hypothetical people or theoretical girls.
Untitled #4
I can't bring myself to write these words down. They're jaded, forced, and jealous. If I don't pull back I'll just end up attacking myself- so lets start where it'll count. I'm not much a writer, or a poet, though I love them both I always much preferred your lyrics. And I made sure to help out, when I could spare it, and push us along into something productive. I really don't mind- to listen to you whine- even if you're drunk at two in the morning. I want you to be okay... I want you to be okay... But...
All you do is sigh. And make me want to die. You're never really around anymore. I say something dumb- hoping that you'll play along- but you're not willing to be laughing either. Why would you waste your time? We both know that you're not trying. It's as disappointing as relieving to come home alone. Because way out in nowhere. There's a pessimistic, non-nihilistic, genius who lives with his mom. Breathing is tiring, like anything for that matter, but if you lather up his hair plenty women will fresia him.
And that makes him sad. Still, if you listen to him rant, you could learn something profound and feel indebted. Which is good. Because abuse is close behind, which is fine, as long as he'll kind of say he's sorry. All his emotions are fleeting. A temporary fix that'll abandon him quickly- no different than anything else. Call them clever excuses that never felt right or real. Walking on whims, always grim, waiting for one silver lining. And everything is given, please make sure to enable him, because if you don't he'll probably go home. And just replace you- not that it much matters since that's where- true loneliness occurs.
Co-dependence is just a glib wishful word.
Art's kind of my life and for the past two years it's all been about music for me. Day and Night. I've been aggressively learning the guitar, pushing through my first band which just ended two months ago, and doing stuff on my own when I have nobody around; which is most of the time and the now. I'm really into Punk, more the method than anything, and pretty well-rounded taste. When I'm not discovering new stuff, listening to my 10,000 track itunes, or learning from the masters by helping out at the local record store; I'm trying to write. When my friend really upset and kind of bailed on me I wrote this EP called "The Loneliest Boy of All" on a typewriter in my parents basement on a weekend visit. Figured it was pretty fitting to post here. I was listening to a lot of Front Bottoms so it's fairly Pop-Punk bias and I'd recommend reading at a medium to fast tempo.
Hope you like it! Untitled #1
Days. These days. Only last a few select hours. While the nights never seem to truly end.
A record skips- on a turntable- off the center of this dreary room that's come apart again. Shades pulled, illuminated from the TV, blue walls and blue dirty dishes. DVDs are scattered, broken out their boxes, like the bottles that lay where they fell empty. You sing loudly, with whimpering laughter, to the blood all over the walls. Longings on your hands, up your wrists, painting your face. Too bad your declaration means nothing. All that is known, is to leave you alone, which I don't, and it hurts to see our reflection.
It's your choice, developed out of consciousness and loneliness. Indecisiveness is what keeps us apart. And you proclaim confusion to what I admit to not doing like you're ruling over our Petoria. I know you're screwed up, from an excess of deviation, I'd never claim to be about. I only get what I see through action, and reaction, and the insults you couldn't hurl my way.
Surly you don't think I'm illiterate. And after we've talked at length about our passions hows it more important not to care? Well my intentions- and executions- were always out of conviction, friendship, naïvety, whether we agree to disagree. I'm not here- to be needy. I just honestly thought- you liked me. I don't say hateful things because I don't think them. And I never made fun of your broken heart. Which if you forget- was always the reason- both of us needed to hangout. And I always went out of my way- because I wanted to. Please, tell me again- how grateful you are. So you can repeat how much you're ******* bored.
I'll keep making corrections to my inferior complexions and you keep being who you are.
Untitled #2
Always be careful how you say what you say. Saying anything anyway gives leverage away. Know your words, memorize the dictionary, make the blame never yours. There's a downside, hard to rationalize, if you remember what you've done to your unfortunate loved ones.
You cant compare sadness to misery, depression to depression, as was taught to me. Keep your nose out of our business, you barely even know us, don't you sign our years away. Like any of you see how you act. You pretentious bastards cant accept- I don't want what you have.
Is this really all there is? Your relationships don't mean honeysuckle. How do you stay together when neither of you want something better for the other? Don't tell me how it's convenient. How love is irrelevant. Like growing up is a justification for dealing damage. You don't deserve what you've gotten. If there's not the respect to be taken to heart.
Then again... But then again... I don't know what I'm talking about. Perhaps, perhaps, it's for the better after all. Even if you're in separate boats- You've got the same harbor. You've got the same harbor. You've got the same harbor. This moment will haunt me forever.
Untitled #3
What a long drive, you and I, have under taken. I really think, today, has worked. I don't recall that name being said at all. I think we'll tie this off and finally start mending.
Oh, Wait. What have I done? How could this day end so backwards? With tears in my eyes, horrific lies, and a hole in my pocket. Have I always been in the wrong? Is listening some dog and pony show? No wonder- everyone- hates me.
Insecurity's an STD, that flares up sporadically, and I can't stand treatment and cant trust self-medicating. When the flaw runs so deep, that it causes an absence of sleep, and panic- like when you saw her and she smiled. What's there to do? But keep working at a selfish world too askew for two- where helping others causes psychotic breakdowns.
Oh, Wait. Truth intrudes. How could I have been so rude to expect hard work to mean working out. Stop sabotaging yourself- with thoughts that don't help. There's her name again- I've brought her out of time- so we could romanticize some perfect existence. Like decisions fell from out the sky just to destroy the fantasy you needed. Unrealistic expectations- flow easily from your tongue into where ever it goes... I'm only interested in hypothetical people or theoretical girls.
Untitled #4
I can't bring myself to write these words down. They're jaded, forced, and jealous. If I don't pull back I'll just end up attacking myself- so lets start where it'll count. I'm not much a writer, or a poet, though I love them both I always much preferred your lyrics. And I made sure to help out, when I could spare it, and push us along into something productive. I really don't mind- to listen to you whine- even if you're drunk at two in the morning. I want you to be okay... I want you to be okay... But...
All you do is sigh. And make me want to die. You're never really around anymore. I say something dumb- hoping that you'll play along- but you're not willing to be laughing either. Why would you waste your time? We both know that you're not trying. It's as disappointing as relieving to come home alone. Because way out in nowhere. There's a pessimistic, non-nihilistic, genius who lives with his mom. Breathing is tiring, like anything for that matter, but if you lather up his hair plenty women will fresia him.
And that makes him sad. Still, if you listen to him rant, you could learn something profound and feel indebted. Which is good. Because abuse is close behind, which is fine, as long as he'll kind of say he's sorry. All his emotions are fleeting. A temporary fix that'll abandon him quickly- no different than anything else. Call them clever excuses that never felt right or real. Walking on whims, always grim, waiting for one silver lining. And everything is given, please make sure to enable him, because if you don't he'll probably go home. And just replace you- not that it much matters since that's where- true loneliness occurs.
Co-dependence is just a glib wishful word.
