WE LOVE THE USED
THE USED
ON MY OWN
see all those people on the ground
wasting time
i try to hold it all inside
but just for tonight
the top of the world
sitting here wishing
the things i've become
that something is missing
maybe i...
but what do i know

and now it seems that i have found
nothing at all
i want to hear your voice out loud
slow it down
without it all
i'm chiking on nothing
it's clear in my head
and i'm screaming for something
knowing nothing is better than knowing at all

on my own
maybe memories
the taste of ink
bulimic
say days ago
poetic tragedy
buried myself alive
a box full of sharop objects
blue and yellow
greener with the scenery
noise & kisses
on my own
pieces mended
*choke me