Here's my two cents: I'm a nuisance. These words falling out of my face, I think I mean them. It's been a year since we spoke, you see. It's been a year this May. If she'd listen to me? For once, I'd tell her everything. So now I'm opening up. Like she gives a fuck. "This was never supposed to happen babe, this isn't us." Love is patient, love is kind. Then why am I losing my mind? Sleepless nights, I'm beside myself. My obsessive incumbency is blinding. I get all up in my head and then I act too late. I hate myself, I hate and hate. Me, I'm a mess. Not the kind that you would clean or fix, but the kind that you detest. I've been thinking about... Well, nothing worth talking about. I guess I just got ahead of myself. I still rip my hair out. I still wear the same jeans. We still don't speak, but I know she still blames me. I can't blame her, though. I'd hate me too if I lived with myself. I got a good look at myself and I think I understand what she was talking about. "Gotta put me first" I said. True. Can't be putting someone else higher than you. So where I fucked up was, I hated myself, and by proxy I started hating her, too. I spent two years living in that apartment. Marijuana addict bassist scraping resin out to smoke it again. But that's just the half of it, you see. The very same person really came through for me when they kicked me out of 2111 (that's where we made the first album) and I wouldn't change how it when down for the world now. I just with that I could make it up to him somehow.

I don't have girls, cash, cars, charisma, or mad flow. I'm just a mess and can't keep it in anymore. Turned 23 alone. Spent New Year's Eve alone. Don't get me wrong, I'm content just to be alone. But nine out of ten leaves that one night I feel alone. Kept in the dark, Truman Show, it's like the sky's just a wall and your lies make up all I believe. Don't lie to an Aspie. If you have your doubts you could always just ask me. And if you want out, just puff-puff and pass me like tobe-bowls of disinterest you breathe in, hold, then out. Catch this hubris walking away cause I'm flawless. You said so yourself during all of this, in between all of your classes at college. Now step back while I drop some knowledge: Understand that I can wait, and after all this you'll change. I'll still be here, 'cause I knew who I was going into this. I've taken a vow to myself not to fall into pieces. Everything that I have left is everything that I need: an empty heart to house a jealous soul, and empty hands left with nothing to hold. These hands are tired and old and I don't know what to do with them anymore. It's funny, when I think about it the way I've thought about it... like, I've stayed up all night ripping my hair out and I've got it in this neat little pile to remind myself that if I don't stop I'll be bald by thirty, but in patches and... Sorry, I got off topic. I've come to the conclusion that our love was an illusion. "Best friends" - the delusional way you explain the way you behave, now I'm vacant, contemplative and impatient. This is not who I wanted to be. I don't see what you see, yet I refuse to change one thing about me on the chance that my life ends up just like my dreams. Why can't you just wake up? It's just like my dreams: "You're perfect how you are" yet I'm never good enough.

Grade school was weird, I didn't really fit in. I thought I'd make new friends fast, but I didn't. I knew how to skate, though, and I had my friend Shayne, and we'd go down the street and we would do that every day. Summer ended and grade seven had begun. I walked into the new classroom, didn't know anyone. My grades were high but social stress were higher. I feigned others' interests; Does that make me a liar? The eighth grade was fucked though, I mean it. Socially awkward, angry, bulimic, doing breakfast like eggs, toast, and vomit. 5' 4" and 95 pounds? Come on. The pretty girls played with my hair, braid it and shit. The dudes I called my friends called me faggot and shit. The church and my mother's love couldn't save me. "Don't listen to that music son, you're just a baby" Instead of being me I tried to be Davey but it's been ten years and now I'm looking to Jay Z for guidance and justification for why I hustle. Not hustle like coke or rap but just... hustle. Like doing the shit I gotta do just to keep being me like dropping music to do school and get a degree then ditching after year two to realize my dreams, singing "won't my mommy be so proud of me?" I'm crushing up my dreams and brushing up on me. Won't you please be proud of me? I've been making music for a little bit. I've been in a few bands. Well, a bunch... But I'm sick of it. I should have clued in 2008 when Ben wrote some songs that he'd grow to hate and we were balls-deep in tracking and he called me Corrigan because if he wouldn't play it, then I would. And if he wouldn't say it, then I would. I had all this vision and he fully trusted me, and even though the sound of my own voice disgusted me he told me to sing and to sing from the heart because every line in a song is a snapshot of just who you are, or were for a moment. I'm not that kid anymore. First love's a bitch, and I loved that dude like an older brother. I remember the last night we trusted one another. It was November 6, 2008 and while sharing a toilet I asked if he'd mind if I dated Emily. And mid-stream in that moment I felt him resenting me because he felt that he owned her, two emotional punching bags that neither could quit. Maybe he knew that with me, that'd be it. We didn't talk that night. He wrote in his laptop and I wrote in my notepad and prayed it would be alright. But it wasn't. It hasn't been since. Just know I'm sorry, if you ever hear this. I'm crushing up my dreams and brushing up on me. Won't you please be proud of me?

I wanna fuck. Not for love or for sport, but because when I fuck and I walk away it's the only time that I feel control. Now, this doesn't mean I wanna go and sleep with any girl, and these thoughts aren't even anything that I'd say I condone. No, I'm just sick of being lonely. That's not to say that I want someone here to hold me, it's that I'm stuck on this concept that out there's my one and only and I miss her like I miss myself when I think of the old me. 16, 17 or so, I don't see the world like I did a few years ago. An optimist, a target that I've always missed like Tom Delonge's first kiss, I need to find myself outside of this. I matter more than I think that I do. Skywalker, realization that this can't be true: She told me that I killed it, ..."He told me you..."... That it's my fault it felt so empty in that room? No, I'm sick of always being right. Sick, like how I knew I wasn't cut out for that life. Sick from all that time I wasted chasing 9-5 and how the 15,000 debt I owe is all that I can think about at night and how the plans I make are stalled because at 17 I told Miss Thorne that I'd be able to support myself with mics, then ditched that plan, stupid, and toured in a van with a band, so dummy, quit and suited up for H.R.M. to get a better job, maybe then she'd love me. Like I said, I don't endorse misogyny, and promiscuity is simply wrong for me. An oddity that Todd would be in marketing, cracking Kraken before class in college because I wasn't me from the 4.0 to solid Ds. I called my mom last March to say "I'm dropping out again, but if you'll give me my old room I've got a temporary plan, like maybe for a bit I'll mix some shit for some local Belleville bands" and she told me, "Son, you're great at that, so do that with your life, you understand?" I couldn't argue with her logic. I moved out on May 12th with all my shit in boxes. I guess that goes to show that nothing is quite as it seems, 'cause right when my life fell apart, I flipped it and I'm living out my dreams. I won't say "I've done all I can do this time" ever again. Never again, will I say that.

I put you on a pedestal, so you had no choice but to look down on me. Put that on my list of shit to drink about until forgotten. Seven years of spineless, prepubescent longing led to nothing more than four torn lives. Why do I lie so often? I spent three years with this girlfriend who just didn't like me. Like he didn't like you, she really didn't like me. I think she saw me as something broken she could fix but when we got a place she saw how broken 'broken' really is. She tried to change me back to 'sort of broken' (when I had a 4.0) and as much as I hate to say it, only she knows the real me: the selfish, loathsome fool, alive to be depressed, or depressed to be alive. Quite convinced I was as bad as life could get, I was shots with breakfast. Pathetic. Say what you will about her, at least she tried to make it work. It was dead before it began, yet she gave me a second chance. And a third. And a fourth. On the fifth I left to be with you (I know that sounds absurd, she kicked me out and moved away to the other side of the Earth). It's not the hope that gets me down, it's the way you watch me hurt. Your promises are empty, yet I cling to every word like a shit idiot. I don't want to keep being this person. No one should be this weak, especially not me. You haven't been okay lately, so rest your eyes, empty your mind, and breathe. I'm the best friend you don't care to miss, the needy, nagging wreck that you can turn off with a switch, the father of the kids who don't exist from the life that you don't want just yet whose names you constantly forget. Danger. Like, "yeah that's his middle name, you've been my favorite person since the seventh grade, and I know you're scared as shit but I swear to fuck that I'm gonna stay" which is cute, because I'm here without you anyway. But that's how your life just goes, You think it's love but you don't know. You can't tell if I'm for real or playing games to fuck you up, so you just treat me like I'm no one? No. See, then the main attraction was the fact that my life lacked distraction. All my passion was tied up in a promise, and that promise ended roughly when you told him "yes." While I understand you left, I simply can't forget the sinking/burning/throbbing in my chest at the fact that we'd let him come between us yet again. Not that I was any better, fucking her in that apartment like a shit idiot. I don't want to keep being this person. You haven't been okay lately. So rest your mind, open your eyes and breathe.