It's a it's a it's a it's a it's a dead body. Showered in all my imagination, I can't blame myself for my indiscretions. How am I are a supposed to be. It's a shame we never worked out. I'm sorry that I couldn't make us work. 

Strobed out and realizing my sky's limit, so I can go on, so I can go on. I know I'm at a worlds low when I do not even know. I don't think I should be going with you to your grandma's funeral, or going to visit you at your college. I didn't think I'd be a nice nice nice nice nice nice, I mean a good enough person. I wouldn't be a caring enough person, or a good enough soldier. That's what I am is what I can't be. An imagination in an imagination, and a few leveled building with no exit signs. 

Out of my death sympathy is when I can feel like what I want to feel. I think I can. I feel like....I can't. A lot of people like dub-step these days, but no one can offer any real hea-hea-hea-hea-heavy droooooops. I can't e-e-e-e-even hear when the-the-the-theyyyyy cooooome in through my iPhone's ringtone. 

I am bleeding out my insecurities every time I open up your page, or at least that's my excuse when I'm looking at you. I feel like a stalker that's being stalked, or maybe that's not in my head like I'm always thinking. Good afternoon, I'm home from work and all I want to do is see what you did today. 

I made some canceled plans, and pretended some happy things were happening. I don't think I'm a bad person for trying to play pretend with you. I don't think I'm a sad person for trying to play pretend with myself.