such is fuck
and now back to the news.
thank you, dear friend, for reminding me why i don't express my feelings. i spill my guts, tell it how it is, bare my soul....and i "don't get it". yup. i don't get it. maybe that's what friends are for. (wah wah wah. wah wah wah. wah wah wah, wah WAH wah wah, wah wah...)
god's a jerk. last few days can be described in a few words. PBR. rum. utter happiness. hopelessness.
if this is reality, let me live in my dreams.
wait...they're fucked too.
i was in prison. but i didn't know it. my father came to take me back. work release, maybe? i had amnesia. didn't know i was in prison. flipped off the cop who was taking me away. apologized quickly, bursting into tears. "i had no idea", i screamed.
futuristic prison. strange. rod surling narrorated.
the night before i was screaming at my mother. dreams come awfully close to reality, but it hasn't been like THAT for years. true story, when i lived at home i turned the heat up. i was cold. mom called me an idiot. not in a ha-ha way. she slapped me. for turning the heat up. "what the hell?"
one of those memories that's burned to the wall of my mind.
she was dripping blood, running to the bathroom.
we were kneeeling, praying.
he was thanking God. god? lowercase is more appropriate. thanking god. what?
seven.
lucky number.
seven misfires. why did i survive? for this? sitting in my boxers, pretending to be literate?
lucky? or just a mistake. i should have been flushed down the toilet, like my nameless sister/brother.
if this is depressing, you're too happy.
i should be sewage.
i was creeping the internet. browsing through people's lives.
she's beautiful.
but she still belongs to someone else.
hammer to the head. fast. painful, but fast.
fruit is on the bottom, but i would be content with the white crap on top.
maybe i was high, drunk, or both, but i definately didn't recognize the kid in the mirror.
i've had so many chances at this, and i still manage to fuck up.
hailey? you slept with him, but i still blame myself.
erin? i'm an asshole. i was bored. but i still cried like a baby. and it was never about anyone else.
___? i used you for cheap thrills. but i scrubbed my carpet when i got home.
___? i ate your wheat thins.
___? i jerked off in your bathroom. good god! he's a pastor!
mom? i told you that letter was from jonathan. but it was really from lucy phelps. she was my first kiss. she said i was like an aerosmith song. jesus. so young.
whitney raasch? i liked you. but i never said anything. but i stole your picture from dottie hoff's house.
okay, i'm done naming names. time for bed. and more bad dreams.
because i need you more
than you need me
because i want you more i know
because we moved too fucking fast
i think i really had to wish to make this last i know
i'm sorry please forgive me, believe me if you would
because i cared way more
because i really felt that you felt so much more i know
i'm sorry please forgive me, believe me if you would
i'm sorry please forgive me, believe me if you could
believe me if you could
oh, tom delonge.
thank you, dear friend, for reminding me why i don't express my feelings. i spill my guts, tell it how it is, bare my soul....and i "don't get it". yup. i don't get it. maybe that's what friends are for. (wah wah wah. wah wah wah. wah wah wah, wah WAH wah wah, wah wah...)
god's a jerk. last few days can be described in a few words. PBR. rum. utter happiness. hopelessness.
if this is reality, let me live in my dreams.
wait...they're fucked too.
i was in prison. but i didn't know it. my father came to take me back. work release, maybe? i had amnesia. didn't know i was in prison. flipped off the cop who was taking me away. apologized quickly, bursting into tears. "i had no idea", i screamed.
futuristic prison. strange. rod surling narrorated.
the night before i was screaming at my mother. dreams come awfully close to reality, but it hasn't been like THAT for years. true story, when i lived at home i turned the heat up. i was cold. mom called me an idiot. not in a ha-ha way. she slapped me. for turning the heat up. "what the hell?"
one of those memories that's burned to the wall of my mind.
she was dripping blood, running to the bathroom.
we were kneeeling, praying.
he was thanking God. god? lowercase is more appropriate. thanking god. what?
seven.
lucky number.
seven misfires. why did i survive? for this? sitting in my boxers, pretending to be literate?
lucky? or just a mistake. i should have been flushed down the toilet, like my nameless sister/brother.
if this is depressing, you're too happy.
i should be sewage.
i was creeping the internet. browsing through people's lives.
she's beautiful.
but she still belongs to someone else.
hammer to the head. fast. painful, but fast.
fruit is on the bottom, but i would be content with the white crap on top.
maybe i was high, drunk, or both, but i definately didn't recognize the kid in the mirror.
i've had so many chances at this, and i still manage to fuck up.
hailey? you slept with him, but i still blame myself.
erin? i'm an asshole. i was bored. but i still cried like a baby. and it was never about anyone else.
___? i used you for cheap thrills. but i scrubbed my carpet when i got home.
___? i ate your wheat thins.
___? i jerked off in your bathroom. good god! he's a pastor!
mom? i told you that letter was from jonathan. but it was really from lucy phelps. she was my first kiss. she said i was like an aerosmith song. jesus. so young.
whitney raasch? i liked you. but i never said anything. but i stole your picture from dottie hoff's house.
okay, i'm done naming names. time for bed. and more bad dreams.
because i need you more
than you need me
because i want you more i know
because we moved too fucking fast
i think i really had to wish to make this last i know
i'm sorry please forgive me, believe me if you would
because i cared way more
because i really felt that you felt so much more i know
i'm sorry please forgive me, believe me if you would
i'm sorry please forgive me, believe me if you could
believe me if you could
oh, tom delonge.