karma set me off in sparks
a walk through the dark
no one knows why
she told me convincing
conviction
to stay alive
some girls,
can't take their own advice

I'm stuck in a place
where everything is gray
cat eyes swell and take over your face
screaming un-syllabically
makes me want to
raise a blade
to my face
and trace down to yesterday
dragging notes like my arms
were something beautiful,
meaningful like a briefcase,
instead its just a brief case, a quick smile
brief case of the ivy days
white line, drawn across my eyes

a spinning room
and come to terms
when no one waits their turn
she comes at night, stands burn
little breaths that hurt my neck
I wanted it to end,
but now I just pretend
everything is set for a better way,
but nothing seems to change
and nothing goes my way
and when I wanted tomorrow to come
I was dragged back into yesterday
and when I wanted change,
they gave an i.o.u,
an "I-L-U," but not this time

shoot up all the shit,
whisper the ways
of what we could stay
alone in your complex
nothings ever easy,
nothing just came easy
and I'm sorry,
believing a charm off a gypsy
is worth dying for
well its not.

Somethings happening too fast
brash rash thoughts won't pass
grappled turning points
its all just lower case
check my breath and pause my pulse
is well, pulsing through my face

Piss clean and serene
rotten fucking day dreams,
are anything but clean
simple dirty, baby
you're sad,
well I'm down
but not out yet
I have two days left
to be spiritually fit,
eternally lifted?
shifted jaws and gum jams
from grinding my teeth
oh amphetamine crammed
crank smoking, low rolling
high balling son of a mother
who gave up her youngest,
to care for another
and fucked her own father
and created a toddler
who never was at day one,
and got stuck at two months

oh no, i'm just looking to go
where the wild things go
all the same in the end
yeah yeah we're just looking to send
the empty part of my head
that fiddles with paint
and fills up with led
down the river again
oh my, its kinda hard to stay high
when you're gearing to go as low
as I go
hey hey and everythings great
smoke the core of the apple
munching on grapes
oooh you, fucking fruit of the fruit
loin of the chosen
heart of the broken my
and its time after time
oh, no and now I'm being recycled
she cries I'm drowning in spin cycles.

Its so quiet,
fuzzy flakes fall off the sky
"boo,"
did I scare you,
hurt you, alerted
she wakes up in the nightlights
don't feel sorry, angela
its only detox

Its so violent,
sudden shakes the freeze me alive
"yelling; screaming"
did I wake you,
make you hate me
she's asleep down the hallway
don't feel sorry, angela
its only detox

Terry's a man
who saw another man
stab his brother for loving
his woman
shattered a mirror;
and looked for an appearance
to see only Terry looking up
from the fire escape

Try to escape,
darling just wait
my head is afloat
and a bottle's my pillow
full-time drunk,
part time scum
maybe some night I could sing to you love,

Me and this guitar
are going places
I wish we could take you,
only in my heart,
oh dear in memories
in 3 months from now
you won't even remember me

Kiss me goodbye,
though its not time
I can't, no I won't
think I'll go if I can't kiss you one time
Kiss me good boo,
i don't know you
but I couldn't love you
if I knew how to
no I couldn't love you
even if I knew how to.

set aside your dancing shoes
they've been standing still
with scuffs from use
wore them once when you were used
today theres a different reason to wear them shoes

i wanna be the culprit
sabotage love,
throw him out,
yeah yeah
the only one
rusted colored razors
come undone
burnt bics and made up late
at night, to take a picture alone

let me know you're dying,
how bad it hurts
and when you're dying
i'll dress you in your favorite shirt
the best last impression you can give
i'm alone forever,
eternity
words and slurs and photos
that only hurt me
pack up back up desert me,

leave it alone
we're almost through
or am i
finally getting through to you

elliott smith makes me sad to listen to.. I sorta feel like I have a brother, or someone I would've grown into, or something. This awkward, uncomfortable confession of everything I wish I could say. And I feel really depressed today. When I quit doing drugs, I became a hypochondriac, uncomfortable and lost any bit of confidence I thought I'd gotten. I got confidence by doing all of the wrong sorts of things. I remember poems when I was so high I thought my heart was going to explode, today I get so scared because I just feel tired all of the time, and feel a lot like if I go to sleep I won't wake up. I remember these poems, and they're kind of comforting, but in more of a distance; like watching the train come knowing its going to hit you soon. It just hasn't come through, I can't hear the whistle or see the conductor, but I'm sure I know who it is driving it. I wish I could be happy, give up all of these bullshit ideas and thoughts. I feel everything for the first time in too long, or in my whole life. I'm aware of all of my decisions and actions and thoughts and feelings and its overwhelming and hard to deal with. I want to call you sunshine, or something. I stopped taking my medication. All of it. I feel a lot worse than I thought I'd feel. I feel bad on it too.

take a hard look back on your life,
21 one years and too sad to cry
and a stained glass
let the pain pass
always half gone,
its just half gone
couldn't fill up
your heart like a cup
go to sleep when there's no one to love
they're all long gone,
they're all long gone

the clock is at half past
one,
and you're not quite done
the bottle is half capped
and plugged
but you're still just drunk

I was swimming out to the raft
the current was too strong to out match
I just wanted to be one of the crew,
not a pale kid who wants to be one of you
so I'm drowning and it seems like
when I was young I
stared at the mirror, when I was alone
and I dreamt that someone would know
coming into an open door
stay a while, and a while more

i heard the rhythm
as you tapped away
black hair
that only fades
and brown eyes
that dissipate to gray,
all those nights
I wish these friends of yours
were friends of mine
and these prayers they shared
were something I believed

Now the prayers I preach
are cursing chants
suffering alone,
vintage jackets and
ripped jean pants
doc martens-- I look like,
someone I saw you with,
or thought you'd look great with,
my name's Jay,
I thought I'd say,
wish I knew yours.

I had just had a revelation. I'm so anxious, worrying about if I fucked up my body on drugs all of these years. Now, I'm sitting here, and it struck me. Who gives a fuck?

Paint my face
in splatter paint
and shade
the dark away
and underline
under my eyes
where the shadows fix
and trap and hide
any glimpse of light

in a splatter painting,
life's a messy painting
waiting to dry,
waiting to focus
set me on the window
and go

I never knew
a girl like you
would teach me to grow
oh how to pray,
lord what to say
they walk away
when I feel this way
when I take the paint
cover my face
and wrists and fingerprints
and call myself by his name;

Do you remember,
we met once
do you think they saw,
the rug cut up

I just need a little
taking scraps off the middle
weeded and widdled
and dusted and fiddled
I'm dyslexic and dumbfounded
solving the riddle
clearly
found racing,
shaking her arms way in front
the finish line waved,
and she braced for the line
he smiled, nearly dying inside
he'd been up all night
bringing god to detox
shots from the soapbox,
run for the hill,
the top of the loanshark
shiny, grim printed fins;

"It'll kill you at best,"
Dear me; Deteriorating kidneys;
"morbid, story teller, liar."
You forgot one,
"Narcissist"
I jerk off in the sink,
to stare in the mirror

She won the race,
first, smooth, girl's feet work
mine are like two left hands
that don't work--
not much; their worth
about two bumps
or 10 ccs,
dying diseased
praying please god, relieve this

swaying in the breeze
my feet from the ground
the same distance
from the trees,
the rope gently tugs,
oh venom and blood
from the orchard of angels,
"Nest"-ing two twigs
one of shit one of plum
they grow together that way,
I'm the botanist, I'm the archer
I'm the stranger night strangler
and I'm even suffocating
trying to live

I dug a hole in my back yard,
and laid down in it
a green rose grew,
oh, a pillow
a black bird blew shit
grave day for nesting
silly little bed post.

Sparkle,
could you feel
the pain when I inhale
The chance for death
is increasingly real
I'm an empty bale
of pale stale ale,
to be drunk on a sunday
when the sun skunks the rest
of the drinks--
dizzying Sparkle,
The bars on Arlington
made me think,
I wish I could be
one of those smiling faces
that you see when you're driving,
or alone in your car,
when the rolling clouds rear in,
crashing down,
tumblers and rainfall,
matching umbrellas and overcoats
or skirts and shaws;
Shimmering Sparkle,
I pissed on a building
in the middle of Times Square
at 2 am and didn't care,
listed the names of every offender
in grafiti;
Someone sneezed behind me, "Achoo"
and I didn't care enough to say bless you,
like I held power not to.

Dear hopelessness,
I saw a name in the paper
and wrote them a letter
they've been dead since Halloween
and its the 8th of November
It doesn't mean much
but a much meant bunch of bullshit
things that I thought
I heard in scratched Smith's records

Heartless Sparkle,
I watched a documentary
about an aircraft
that exploded upon take off,
and thought of my own birth.
How could someone so young,
feel so dull,
and decide to give up.

Red slits
on curtains
and curved lips
above your chin
resting on the window silk
Dead bolts
and eye holes;
heavy lids that don't quite fit
the frame of your hardened face,
its harsh, worn well with use
but used and trendy
like a doctors daughter
buying clothes at the thrift store,
because she wrote a check
that looked just like a script
and forgot her name, so she just forged his

Beautiful, you're far from
Ugly, but I'm gonna love you
Lovely, and pretend
you're better than you are

Cut up coats
and broke up,
never together when it mattered
I broke my car and drove faster
her fathers house up on the hill
adrenaline and amphetamine pills
mad dog, barking up the wrong tree
flicked cigarettes and embers
falling all around, from the bedroom story
like a bedtime story,
I didn't like it much,
but I stuck around
I didn't like it much
But I stuck around

Beautiful, you're far from
Ugly, but I'm gonna love you
Lovely, and pretend
you're better than you are

at 17 i got really drunk
the kind of drunk
that makes you love
every second before you throw up
18 fell asleep at the wheel
and woke up in the grass on a field,
staring at the dirt on my finger nails
the girl who fell asleep in the passenger seat
the wake up sick, sorry she loved me

19 flew I sped and blew
thought of voices to mock
that hid in the back
shaking with shock
faking an i.d.
connecting the dots
bumming a ride to and from the place
they send you when you start to shake,
said, "I'll love you, when no one else does
fall asleep with me."

20 shut my mouth pretty tight
I should've listened to every piece of advice in health class,
21 lord, I'm alive
good or bad,
I still haven't weighed this out.

lonely mornings
on the floor
I've been lying on the floor,
but if you'd let me in the bed
well we could share a cigarette

Granola and Crannberries
Tea and leaves that you can't steam
anything to make you seem,
alright,
okay
crawling on me like a bug
crumpled clothes that cover the rug
dirty spreads that cover up love
turn away and turn my face
there's too much shame in dried up blood

Avenue avenue A,
breathing in the city some more

Fire Escaping nights
so high I'm dizzy,
amped up on amphetamines
she's been my girlfriend three years,
on and off, mostly off
headlights are bullets gliding
sidewalks and rivers,
boats and moats oh,
take me away where no one goes

some place
no one goes
three years ago
lower east working girls
high rise high end
smoked up tall stacks, under age and
un-equipt.

Ink Blots

diagnose me
with some disease
yeahh
take property
and money from me
oh, call me call me
crazy,
call me call me
patient
doctor doctor
drug me
i'm shaking from the alcohol
fuck me fuck me
girlfriends
call me no one
shut me up
and shut it off
i gave my best to family
all the way from west palm beach
I dont want to talk
and I never did
your friends all hang around
while you're out
and down to dry

oh, or something in between
yeahh always something in between
asking what it means to me

She showed a flash card stained with ink
I felt just like a little kid
butterflies burning up
turning into moths
nothing ugly's ever loved
if its beautiful its all fucked up
who do i have to fuck
to find someone to love

Megan sucked my dick. She had me fuck her face. I felt slightly disgusting, but everything we did led directly towards that point-- the ugly, sloppy slobbing slirping static of the moment before I was done with the deed, and the moment after where I wish I was dead.

I met her at an AA meeting, she shared about how thankful to god she was for having him bring her there, and how money was becoming an obstacle. Her wavy blue eyes didn't match her black dress that screamed, "tear me out of this." Her hands were gentle, but something about her mannerisms suggested that she was a bit less than stabled and structured and fine lined and dandy.

I shared after, "I remember in Detox, I had a choice between a chicken dish, a beef dish and grilled cheese. I'd order grilled cheese everyday, but for some reason my head was so fucked up still that I couldn't remember what I had ordered when it was time for lunch and dinner." The room erupted in a sort of golf-clap of laughter. "The point is, when I moved home from Philly, I knew that I needed to make clean friends-- you know, and I needed to hear as many messages as I could. Money doesn't matter, fuck, pride doesn't matter. The only thing that ever really matters is what I could do to help myself stay sober."

Megan caught my eye, and I started to feel this awkward feeling--

"The kind of awkward where you're not sure if someone is looking at you, or waiting for a response. Or, if you're going to say the wrong thing and then they'll just think 'this person looks pretty, but they're actually slow, or not worth my time,' Lauren would explain; I'd identify, and little energized strings of love illuminated from a once hollowed out rotten old chest, and sprung through her finger tips on the other end of the phone.

The rest of the meeting was stuck in a spiral-- I couldn't stop looking at her for approval; a nod, a smile, anything that invited me over to her.

Afterwards, when all was said and done I walked out with my hands in my pockets, and thanked someone for having said something encouraging.

"Joey-- I'm Megan. It's so nice to meet you. Thank you so much for what you said before, it really helped me." Her face was round, but it was soft and silky, much like a rose. I couldn't help but notice her lips were chapped, which made me feel like she'd been doing coke. The way she spoke was much too quick and overly sincere for me to believe it, even just at first glance.

you're keeping me sober i hope you know.

is this so stale
we can't even break bread
she's turned so frail
she's gonna break in two

depending on
narrow minds
winding arrows
pointing behind
resplendent hole
she's digging in the garden
i'm shoveling the pedals
protector of the shade
why see eye to eye
when you cant see my face

is this so stale
we can't even break bread
she's turned so frail
she's gonna break in two instead

counted rosary beads,
wiping sweat in a daze
a maze that sworms when you're angry
and locks you into a concave
she's hammering at the lock,
breaking glass on the gate
when i cry
i whine like a child
doo wah doo this is all
a big mistake

and you're so stale
you don't even have a taste
i'm turning frail
even pirates see a sunken face

the protector of the shade
breaking glass on the gate
when we cry we sound like children
doo wahh doo wah doo wahh doo wrong
doo wah doo doo wah doo wah doo doo wah--
doo wah doo what you want you're going to.

You're not going to save me

Crawl to bed
all to be wrapped
gifts baby,
tissue paper
scissors lips
presents lady
walk to death
panting and tugging
at my pant legs
"do it, do it--"
it'll get better
the weather
"so do it, baby.."
she loves me today,
but didn't yesterday
and a whole string of days
wrap me in ways

sitting on the stool
with nothing to do
a pretty notion left to do
an old ideal is rearing to lose;
threats are gearing up to be proved
thrifty short and shrude
with shoulders that swoop
at every strained tip of my glass
to, you,
all these people here grow like weeds
counting numbers too high to keep
shoot the shit like cream
and speed tastes sweet
till every light is turning green
she's walking towards a door and speaks
"i'm all but yours if we leave,"

I'd rather go, where the cold froze sand
of Florida's grip is hand in hand like a a palm
where nothing but trees and dirt
and more trees and junkies go to recover
gallop and stagger and take cover
but planes and cars are much to hard
to function on without one more
take a blast and hitting the floor
chests are like dogs that need to be walked
to kicked a bunch and left to the world
diamonds in her tears like pearls,
shining in the hospital ward
detox was a sight
that wasn't quite right
but nothing seemed to go much else
other ways just brought me here
running from the obvious bend
spending much time
behind state lines
jersey city made me a boy,
naked in the bed of a tower
a girl who knew me
like i knew she was sour
rough to the touch
who loved to fuck
and slurp and drink
with straws to suck
Vampira come to take me away,
the doors are grated crated and gray

fire escapes too high to leap
shooting past the shit like cream
and speed tastes sweet
till every light turns green
she's walking towards a door and speaks
"i'm all but yours if we leave,"
I'm all but hers if she complies
twenty nine bills of garbage turned currency
the urgency of rushing the bumps
absinthe absent absess and bust
clocks dissolve in tylenol
coming down the hollow hall
taking off my boots to make love
explode my heart at every thrust
blacking out and waking to cum
"lift me up with one more, love"
40 hours pass-- fast tracked
blood stains and wine glass trash
straws are burnt and chewed and compact
watching as the window smash;
jerking off in broken glass;
silent smells of gas
drips from in the back
leaky baths and paint set splatter;
dripping, "pitter pitter patter,
dishes--kitchen--half past--bastard."

fallen in the arms
of someone who harms
soberly the nurture of all
the things we've both done wrong
sobered up to go back home
7 more blasts the crack of a shot
and ripping past the land lords rent
spending all thats left to be spent
tearing up JFK
the gravity is weighing me
magicians with a trick
curling at the tip
winking with the bite of a lip,
i'll just show you a bit,
the littlist bit of the dip
and pull and go to the hole
that sells what'll make me go
further from where i chose to go
away from where i wanna go

Marius the name
a savior who saves
the lady who was sworn as a maid
a slave a brave tame women
of a former name;
Marius to save the day,
another week on Marius Way,
Summit brush and Palm Beach streaks..

6 am, I woke on my own to the sexiest Spanish woman I ever saw, bent over a couch simulating being railed. I had the television on mute-- my room mate had disappeared for three days now, probably gone to San Diego for court, or to get loaded, who knows. All I know is this was my last time to go outside and smoke a cigarette with Mr. Steve-- of course, up bright and early, smoking the end of a cigar.

"Morning J." He said, a fresh cigar dangling out of his mouth. He looked a lot like someone I had survived jail with-- someone who I was about to hand my shank to, give the last of my cookies, my last four smokes. He seemed not as wise today, I was the wise one, I was actually leaving.

"Good morning-- do you have any coffee?"

"Yep, go on in-- Jeff is sleeping." He said this, knowing full well I would wake Jeff up purposely, but still with the hope that maybe I'd be quiet.

I walked in for the last time, trying hard not to be sentimental-- I helped myself to Jeff's assorted cookies his parents had sent him, and filled a cup of coffee. I walked outside with my cigarette already lit and Steve smiled. We talked some about his stints in jail, how he had become friends with all of the inmates and they had called him the old man. I smiled, listening intently, realizing this is exactly as he had done here.

He had cooked for me every night, he had been there to listen to me play guitar, he was the older man who would play basketball with us. I looked up to him, and he looked up to me. It was sad to think that I might not ever see him again.

"Come here J, I want you to see something." He said, smiling crookedly, hiding whatever emotion he was about to reveal. We walked inside his apartment, I still smoking my cigarette and he showed me a picture of the prettiest two women I had ever seen. Blonde hair, blue eyes and perfectly bodied, and embodied next to Mr. Steve and his wife.

"She's 22, she's 20, and, that's my wife, I can't tell you how old she is." And we both laughed.

"They're gorgeous, I really don't know what to say. You have a beautiful family." I meant it. His daughters were the first that I felt light hearted towards. I didn't want to have sex with, I just wanted to make sure they had their father back some how.

He didn't say thank you. He just smiled, like he knew. He hadn't shown his room mate, or anyone else. He hid his picture in his books, and placed them strategically, as if he was used to doing this from prison.

"I'm gonna wake everyone up and say my goodbyes now, so I don't have to later."

Remarkably I'm able to write this today. I feel only slight pains that come and go-- more visual confusion than actual physiological disorders, though when I stop to think about them they flutter and rush me like some sort of off sides blitz. I remember overdosing on ecstasy, or having a panic attack after tripping way too hard smoking weed laced with ecstasy and cocaine-- taking three triple stacks, and then going home to take the fourth. I had been drinking as well, and I finally felt my heart fluttering, stopping, and fluttering. I drank unholy amounts of water, and couldn't urinate. I remember stories from middle school about kids who would drown in their own urine and I began swimming. I couldn't keep my head above the water and so I cried out for my brother, who came and began punching my legs yelling to my parents and telling me I was fucking stupid.

The hospital wanted my insurance, undoubtedly, and watched me cautiously as I begged them not to let me die again. I had blacked out four times, recalled seeing my dead friend laughing, assuring me I would be okay. My father was by my side, screaming at me, while a little girl was crying because her fever wouldn't break. Mine wouldn't either, and Chick, my male nurse was prepared to insert a cathador. "J-- stay with me, where did you get the drugs?"

"Fuck," I thought, he's going to call the cops on Jon.
"Paterson, or Camden?" He asked. It seems he was in recovery, and he was giving me a little more rope than I thought, as I was undoubtedly hung.

"Newark."
The heart machine was like a lie detector and joined my father in screaming fits, because it began trying its luck at getting through to me. I closed my eyes and heard a lot of commotion. I opened them to see IV that couldn't catch a vein. I saw a disappointed look, as if to say, "you killed yourself kid, I'm not beating myself up when we lose you."

I took the plastic urinary device and asked Chick for three more. I pissed for a solid 4 minutes and the heart machine was a lot like a drum machine now. The lights sort of seemed un-real, and burnted my eyes. My brain felt like I was trying to balance a glass without spilling it. My legs hurt, and my left leg cramped. My eyes twitched, and I felt an uneasy feeling in my chest-- like a prison and inmates all clattering their heels to scare the new fish. Everything spun and made me dizzy. I had wanted to die, and fell short of dying.

"I think you're going to be okay kid. You're a fucking junky though, look at you. We're not going to let you go unless you choose either an I.O.P program, or in-patient. You know," he began, "I was an addict too."

The word addict seemed a lot like the word stalker. It had that after taste that I didn't want to stick around for much more than the initial bite. I loved getting high, but I wasn't an addict. I was the kid who just pushed the limits. I was an entrepeneur of substances; I could drink an 18 pack to myself at 16, why wouldn't I be doing ecstasy? I wasn't shooting dope. I was tripping at parties.

"I went to treatment, and now I'm a nurse."

My dad seemed particulary calmed at this. During this crisis, he was pacing and muttering jibberish to himself; swearing under his breath in Italian and trying to find some purpose in his being there.

"Fucking stop dude. This was my first time ever doing E. I was with this girl and I wanted to loosen up so I went to Newark and asked the first homeless person I saw to get me some. They probably ripped me off and gave me Phetinol or something. I've never done it before and I took like 4 of them."

"I think you're lying. If you want to die, that's your call-- you're well on your way buddy." Chick replied, fingering his name tag as if to say, "this is everything you stand to lose."

My father and I exchanged words, and Chick gave him his phone number, suggesting if they ever need to talk, not to hesitate to call. He also said he thought that I was telling the truth, and that these drugs might make me not seem myself for a while. However, if I were to keep on the right and ready for a long enough time, I would be fine. The only problem, is that I was taking Klonopin, a heavy sedative for anxiety, and Lithium. The very reason my liver did not explode from the amount of drugs and alcohol in my system, was well beyond medical reasoning.

i can see whispers
wilt and trickle down her cheek
and drip down to her dress
she wipes it off with her finger
and flicks away each syllable
hidden eyes that burrow
born with 21 years of shame
stacked like drinks that still have sips
but were much too strong
to really enjoy,
so you let them dissolve to foam
drink it pretty
sweetie sweetly
discrete little secret.

This is nothing like I thought it would be in high school. I envied the lives of Kurt Cobain and Elliott Smith-- to the point where I blew coke and pain pills; drank cheap bum wines and malt liquor and would romance the idea that I was living as an artist. I couldn't cope with the normal run of the mill life that every 13 year old was jogging along with, so instead I took my mother's pink bic razor and burnt the bottom off of it. I had heard a girl in 7th grade tell me how she'd done this, and I thought it would be a good idea. The plastic dripped onto my leg and I clasped my fists together-- one around the razor, the other around the lighter. When I cut my wrist, blood didn't come right away. Instead, the sway red and gray wound felt awkward like a paper cut, and I had wished I didn't feel that way anymore. I continued to cut my wrists occasionally, but turned to something more gratifying-- like punching my temples.

I suffered from migraines, so this didn't help at all either. When I was 9 years old I tried to hang myself from my older brother's top bunk on our bunk bed with a belt that I wrapped around the bed post. When I woke on the floor, I started crying from a spell that would last around three days. Everything made me sad-- my dog, whom I had embarassingly hurt by throwing a ball just out of the reach of the links of the chain wrapped around the tree in the back yard where my family was having some barbeque or get together. My uncle yelled at me, and I went to my room and pretended to go to sleep. I was deathly afraid at this time of being possessed by the devil-- and by ghosts and demons being underneathe my bed, so I would say a thirty minute prayer, including not to let our house burn down, in case I had left the clothes too close to the burner in the laundry room, indubitably.

These thoughts went away the first time I drank at a punk show when I was 12. I tried fighting one of my friends who had pushed me. I became defensive and jealous over anything that was mine and especially the things that I wanted to be mine-- or thought would be in a matter of time. My mannerisms were awkward-- my hair was long and I was overweight. I was a tragic looking sloppy kid who would pick his clothes from a spectrum of shadows. Everything was draped in black, and I would colour my finger nails black to match my black eyeliner. The bands, however were my friends who would write these lyrics to me. From this point, the room spun its first spin and I picked up a pen so as to never stop writing.