Another day, another bottle’s contents swirling in my stomach, melting away the anxiety and replacing it with a physical sensation akin to choking. Or perhaps my throat is actually swollen shut? My lungs might be filling up with cheap liquor and cigarette smoke, leaving no room for something as silly as a chemical reaction turning oxygen into carbon dioxide. Perhaps that’s for the best, letting my words die in my chest before they find purchase on my breath, saving me from making another mistake, since I’m sure I’d just waste my final moments trying to tell you something, even though there’s not a single fucking thing you want to here from me…
At this point I’ve watched Miya Folick perform this song a hundred different times, and every single time I’m still blown away. The feelings she invokes with her voice, the way she writes sharp, intimate songs with soft words, and the way she lets the music take over with every performance, I’ve found that Miya Folick is everything I love about music. Just listen to this song and I promise, you’ll be hooked for life. I know I am.
I’ve spent the past 6 years trying to erase everything.
If our lives are homes that grow with time, than what I have been doing is leaving the front door unlocked, every window open, and I couldn’t even wait for the world to rip out anything of value, so I actively participated in the pillaging, until nothing of value remained.
I’m an empty house, stripped bare from 6 years of trying to erase whatever we shared, and I shared it all, so it all came down.
20 years of life that I remember, and each memory has now be drowned, and it only took 6 years to destroy whatever I used to be, so the work is done…right?
Yes, that must be right…but if that’s true…
~Why am I still breathing?~
Now I remember your face
The name you remind me of, so fake
This bitter pill, just a bit overkill
But theater has its place’s
We have come to a fork in the middle of this road
Damnit, who put this here?
Blocking my way, making it harder to say
What I need to
Well if I weren’t drunk, I could walk in a straight line.
But if I weren’t drunk, would I have the courage to dance?
So I’ll take another shot,
Some cold, liquid courage,
Injecting some iron
Into my spine
O, but it’s irony at its best
When you say, “I meant it!”
You meant it, you meant it!
O, how you lie
So you’re exposed, losing composure
Gaining a gloomy expression
What was that for, why so down?
You never could answer my questions
Seemingly unbreakable, I’m fragile
Your outer shell still intangible
The clock is broken, but I know the time;
I’m learning to not take the gamble.
Well if I weren’t high, all of the time, I would be pretty damn successful
But even on this high, I can tell that it’s time, and so I am walking away
Your face is beautiful, it’s true.
Physically flawless, a wonderful view.
But there’s nothing underneath;
You’re an empty physique.
And it’s time I said goodbye to you.
I waited for you in April, but as the rain came and went, you never revealed yourself to me. I stayed there, and I’m still here, unable to rise up and enjoy the summer sun. And as this autumn fades into blinding snow, you are often the only thing on my mind. I’m still waiting for you, but each new breath saps all the warmth from my bones, and it’s only here, where my time is frozen, that the truth finally sinks in; I may never get to see you again…
~I wanted to see you blossom, but I never gave you the things plants need, like water or sunlight or…I never nurtured you, I just assumed nature would take care of that. Humans aren’t plants though, and we need silly things like words of encouragement and ice cream trucks and hugs that you wish would never end…because the end is a real thing, for everything, and that hurts…it hurts so damn much…~
Her breath circles on my tongue
Before falling into my blood,
And the chemistry is the same
As alcohol to flame.
She is bound to burn me down
To nothing more than desires
That I am ill equipped to resist…
You know, I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to keep waking up in physical pain, throwing up my future all over my bathroom floor, replacing my bath rugs on a weekly basis. It’s not fun, and it makes me feel nothing. I don’t want to be nothing, but what else is there? I have to ask, because writing about it, saying it, screaming it out loud in my car at 3AM doesn’t make any other feelings come out.
I must have been happy.
It’s impossible that I could have lived over 25 years if all I ever felt was this.
But what is that feeling? I’d settle for unchecked rage at the world at large, or an unbearable guilt for the dreams I’ve abandoned. I’d take a million tears, a million crushed hearts, a million more minutes of my fall from the top to this bottom. I’d take any feeling, anything to wake me up, to make me feel… I just want to feel something…