I want to beat the cliche and become greater than myself. I want to understand the irony in everything and move past it. This will never happen. No sleep until we hit the shelves. I cannot sort between what people are saying and what they could be saying. Currently living behind closed doors and watching through keyholes for signs of life. I have the ocean at Fripp drawn on my hand because I needed to escape and that was the quickest way. Unintentional awkward glances towards the moon as I attempt to patch the ceiling with these words. Short lived relief in the form of text. Blurred baby worlds and such. I feel 12 again. Baby girl wipe the fears from your eyes, I'm a stranger to myself as well. An emotional sleep hold is my best move, but don't tell anyone. It's too bad that I have to retract my words from that night. I guess it's all just really failure by design. But then again, if your tears were bottled, I'd drink them too. We're both just playing a game of chicken with our hearts.