"Nevermind how my taste reflects
a disturbing Oedipal Complex.
It's not awkward, girl.
The compliments are coming next."
Fuck, man. I wish this file would download.
Ten years ago people had to pay for music.
The atrocities.
"I mean, sure, its a law, but no one ever enforces it."
I feel like I'm forced to buy prescriptions of canned emotion to replace what isn't there.
Ah, yes. The Empty.
Vivid, breathtaking, and completely void of anything that ever was
(or ever will be)
human.
Just like you've become.
denial is the peripheral vision of the mind's eye.
I remember everything.
I remember the way your flesh tears open.
The sound it makes.
The taste of intoxicating crimson.
The way you flinched when I put my teeth in the wound.
It sickens me, the way i need you so much.
The way you're the only one that can tune my heartstrings.
This song is supposed to be played with the E string dropped to a D.
That's why your lows are too high.
Unless you can pull off bar chords, this ship's gonna sink.
But I don't remember you ever being that good with your hands, princess.
Just shut the fuck up and play something about sex and violence.
Something pretty.
How else am I supposed to fall in love with you?
Every song is a siren song for me.
From the brain to throat to fingers to fretboard and mouth of a sweet girl,
and focused at my ears and heart,
a song is laced with Cupid's venom.
A dangerous thing when used on the broken.
Choose your words and lyrics carefully.
All the Graceful Guitar Goddess Girls are Gone or enGaged.
I think I'll be my own light in darkness.
Yours just burns all the time and we never sleep. |
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