2006-02-25 - 6:52 p.m.
"Hey, where have I gone? I used to be the one looking for the hero in some far off place." - Bouncing Souls, "Kids and Heroes"
Sometimes I hate him. You could write a novel and nobody would notice. Little miss never dressed to impress. They run, these thoughts, splattering on the page. One last breath, so get that last fix. It'll make you nauseous. Die. Good intentions but they'll make way for disaster. If only it'd make sense. They're people, though, so they'll never make any sort of sense. You don't have to try to be perfect. You obsess over little things that don't matter. You're slightly sinister and cynical, but altogether too safe. You want to hate them half as much as you hate yourself.
The stakes are pretty high, aren't they?
Last year, last bet.
Last chance to impact.
Parallelism. You can't make a run for it, they can't provide for you, and your life shouldn't be a Conor song. You know which band I'm talking about. One of these days you'll learn to stop using "you" and "I" interchangeably. Who's good enough? Someone who wants Devotion like The Stereo. Too vanilla without the ice. We're taking swigs instead of shots, metaphorically, taking names, and thinking this'll be the last time. The daisy chains are raining on my parade.
He'd never look to see what's really there. You're a two-dimentional innocent nerdy chick who happens to be good at stuff. He'd never see past the bad girl wannabe you throw on for good measure, the black of the hoods, the charcoal-rimmed eyes. The only time I'm in love is when I turn on my stereo.
"I've got a chip on my shoulder, got a monkey on my back, got a lot of things to say, and I think I'm gonna crack." - Suicide Machines, "I Hate Everything"
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