Retrospection
i recently found a notebook buried someplace in my closet and it had all of this old writing when i was 17. i only read some, but heres some of it. not the best, but nostalgic for me.....
age 17
the saddest thing i've ever seen.
true loves, lost their meanings, lost their feelings.
driving ten thousand miles for no reason.
Are my reasons sentimental?
now the sounds grow louder. the creases in my fingers go away.
can anybody save him from his indecision.
hes lost inside his soul.
and away i fly hoping i can never die.
the sitting in my room, the vacant nights of cold cold blood.
pretty girls with early eyes.
i cant see them now,
their crimes are done.
i'll stay up late and wake up early just to go insane.
her arms are like wings,
her eyes...
they stare.
they seem sad with fury.
her dress accents her adventures.
i'll never know her victims.
i'll never know...her.
her face is black and white.
i wrote this after waking up in the middle of the night, age...17
my blood learns to flow in a certain direction.
music should be
precise.
words should have hidden meanings.
i wrote this about alan, but i dont remember it. age 17
it seems like we speak our own language. we laugh while others cry.
our meeting wasn't anything but hopes.
we go insane because of each other.
there isn't more i'd want in a friend
fuck bricks!
age 17
the saddest thing i've ever seen.
true loves, lost their meanings, lost their feelings.
driving ten thousand miles for no reason.
Are my reasons sentimental?
now the sounds grow louder. the creases in my fingers go away.
can anybody save him from his indecision.
hes lost inside his soul.
and away i fly hoping i can never die.
the sitting in my room, the vacant nights of cold cold blood.
pretty girls with early eyes.
i cant see them now,
their crimes are done.
i'll stay up late and wake up early just to go insane.
her arms are like wings,
her eyes...
they stare.
they seem sad with fury.
her dress accents her adventures.
i'll never know her victims.
i'll never know...her.
her face is black and white.
i wrote this after waking up in the middle of the night, age...17
my blood learns to flow in a certain direction.
music should be
precise.
words should have hidden meanings.
i wrote this about alan, but i dont remember it. age 17
it seems like we speak our own language. we laugh while others cry.
our meeting wasn't anything but hopes.
we go insane because of each other.
there isn't more i'd want in a friend
fuck bricks!