i wanted to journal this, too.

'im always going to have something' you think to yourself, looking up at misery and despair. the two lonely houses you never want to go to but you somehow spend every weekend there, curled up in your sleeping bag, mumbling your eulogy to yourself like the lullaby nobody wrote for you.

you spend those nights with words you thought youd never hear in your ears. one headphone an ear, the other sew to your heart. your eyes hit the moon, just a few keys from "saving lives" and when you wake up, the sun shines through the cobweb curtains and rip the tranished cord from your arteries.

'i dont need it' you say
but what you mean is
'i need you like i need a whole in the head'