You Would Rather Be Normal Than Nothing...
My therapist went to Italy. When she gets back, she said she hopes to see me doing better. So that is the new plan. Say, "Yes, school is good. Yes, friends are good. Yes, family is good. Yes, I am happy." Can I cut through all these melodramatics? Where's my hole at?
I wrote a couple songs. They aren't great, but they serve the purpose of making this entry longer. Neither of them make much sense and are jumbled in any points they are trying to reach. (Oh, and speaking of writing songs, Trish and I have formed an Animorph band called The Controllers. We write songs about the Animorphs and we are great and stuff you know?)
The Cure
Dead-lines form a two dimensional picture that depth perception just can't measure
Breaths come in as solids to make the lungs into something hardened
I am trying too hard to make a point, but how else am I expected to survive?
Itchy trigger fingers fight wills that try to be strong enough
Each moment of survival feels like a low count time bomb
I haven't cracked yet, but could you ever know how bad I still want to?
Habits can only be hidden by better habits
And even then they'll never stop
There will always be hospitals where every bed is full
The cure will never come
I am hopeless but most honest people are
I will never feel safe
All I can have is the most modest form of okay
Compound Eyes and Weightless Bodies
Can you see my heart pace to and fro?
Not knowing what to feel, not knowing where to go
Can you see the way my nails grow?
Painfully through their scabbed homes
My spine is twisting into the most grotesque shapes
From carrying these crushing weights
Don't you want to feel better?
You don't try hard enough
Pointing like an arrow on a windy day
Compound eyes and weightless bodies
Gurneys make the most comfortable beds
Soft pillows for your hard head
Human enough, I don't know
Directions won't tell you yes or no
Destruction builds the cities
Addictions feed the hungry
It's just one versus one now
It's just me versus myself
Pitifully fights the performance
Satisfaction is never matched
I think I am an emotional bitch. Gah.
I wrote a couple songs. They aren't great, but they serve the purpose of making this entry longer. Neither of them make much sense and are jumbled in any points they are trying to reach. (Oh, and speaking of writing songs, Trish and I have formed an Animorph band called The Controllers. We write songs about the Animorphs and we are great and stuff you know?)
The Cure
Dead-lines form a two dimensional picture that depth perception just can't measure
Breaths come in as solids to make the lungs into something hardened
I am trying too hard to make a point, but how else am I expected to survive?
Itchy trigger fingers fight wills that try to be strong enough
Each moment of survival feels like a low count time bomb
I haven't cracked yet, but could you ever know how bad I still want to?
Habits can only be hidden by better habits
And even then they'll never stop
There will always be hospitals where every bed is full
The cure will never come
I am hopeless but most honest people are
I will never feel safe
All I can have is the most modest form of okay
Compound Eyes and Weightless Bodies
Can you see my heart pace to and fro?
Not knowing what to feel, not knowing where to go
Can you see the way my nails grow?
Painfully through their scabbed homes
My spine is twisting into the most grotesque shapes
From carrying these crushing weights
Don't you want to feel better?
You don't try hard enough
Pointing like an arrow on a windy day
Compound eyes and weightless bodies
Gurneys make the most comfortable beds
Soft pillows for your hard head
Human enough, I don't know
Directions won't tell you yes or no
Destruction builds the cities
Addictions feed the hungry
It's just one versus one now
It's just me versus myself
Pitifully fights the performance
Satisfaction is never matched
I think I am an emotional bitch. Gah.