its awfully strange. 

i scrapbook pieces of my soul, and mind together. 

together on the pages of a lined notebook, 

the glue i used melts into the paper and the newspapers i borrowed evaporate. 

the news dies, or fades, it disappears. 

melted together with the newest form of creative escapism ive decided upon.

 

 

there are vibrations under my papercut hands, markered with bruises, 

the vibrations are the sounds of a song i'll associate with a painful ache that ive been feeling lately.

the ache appeared out of a pilowcase, and a pixel. 

the pixels wont stop making me cry, 

and the pillowcase is hurting the bottom of my spine. 

the nest i made for fits like these was attacke by a bigger bird.

they pecked the treasures hidden under the mattress, and woven into the blankets. 

i would lie in the nest, and listen to those vibrations. 

of the song i'll soon associate an ache with, 

and i would let go of it all. 

i would release the rope thats causing rope burn on my glue covered hands.

but that nest has gone.

i have to hold the ache in a bubble that sits in my throat. 

and i just keep waiting for it to burst, 

and release me from the rope, and the burden i'd hold if whats on the other end broke. 

 

my pride and my restlessness can't climb up the jagged sides of the cliff called chance by themselves.

they cling, to the rope called never letting go. 

and the music, that song, continues to play.

because its enternal, it lives on and on. 

the ache is eternal, it will stay a feeling in the hearts of monstrous teenagers until the earth itself comes to pass. 

phoebe bridgers, she's telling me she knows the end. 

i cant stop crying, i cant stop. 

the pixels still make me ache.

ache for something ancient,

the pillowcase wont let me rest my head on it anymore. 

and today i just cant take it. 

no more, today, no more. 

NO MORE.