We drive up the east coast in an old Cadillac where, as the drivers change,
I try to convey to you thoughts which are abstract,
but articulated like a bike tire going flat
-a silent hisssssssss till you press down and there's no firm contact
and what was originally meant's no longer in tact

Till the air fills up and is released again

Another state, another 'Welcome' sign;
 I don't feel so much a welcomed human
but a machine bringing pollution
just rolling through
I want to stop and see if the people change enough for my pessimistic thoughts of that Long Island to be considered truth (trade that truth for an intellectual term...non-fiction...based on fact)

I've thought about suicide,sure, but that was when I was younger
Now I sit in all these goddamn lectures
in some hard-as-crystal college chair
Talking Philosophy and the idea of the "self"
and you realize that all it does is increase the arts
but deflates the heart

Where you read, write, draw, and play music more
but all that comes out are thoughts and expressions which signify sadness
--the basis of human emotions--
all the hurt you're going through now
and before you even realized what your mind was for.

****I've never been this lonely in all my 22 years
And I'm getting sick of all these cheap "Bush" beers
Where I want some flesh that I can hold
One I dont have to constantly send home
On buses and trains and highway lanes

Whoever said sober was so good?
Sure, my head's on straight, but I'm so, so damn bored
And all this talk of parallelism and metaphors
has got me bolting for the door
or straight to some girl's house who I just met two nights before

Who I barely even know
But I never think twice about it because her bed is warm
and it feels so good when she reaches around my stomach with her arm
So whatever...whatever, why question it?

And I'll explain my situation to family and friends
again and again and again and again
til my mind explodes and my lungs implode
and all I see is me swinging from some rope

Why do I always gotta feel so alone?
Even in a room full of people, I'm still not home
And all I want is to go to the woods somewhere
get a cabin where I can sit and stare and stare and stare
at trees and lakes and all that shit that nobody, anymore, ever appreciates.

You've got a lot of nerve telling me things are okay
Things havent been okay in 1095 days
What can I possibly do to make things better?
I'm trapped in this suburban life till a further notice letter

Sorry, I had to rhyme, all that drug use has clouded my mind
and it's gunna take another 1095 days time to get it right

Hence my immaturity
It's gunna take 3 more years to gain back the creativity
that was promised me when I was 16
I've shirked my responsibilites
for far far too long
and now I can barely do 10 push-ups without cramping my arm

So from now on whenever there's all this doubt
all this doubt that your 18 year old heart will ever wish to burn out
Just stomp and stamp it out
like cigarette ash
smudge it on the concrete till it disappears entirely

I'm so done and tired of all these pessimistic thoughts
And I wanted to believe she'd be mine, and that it'd never fall apart
because as far as I was concerned we were a whole
and when apart, we were only a tiny part of a greater whole

Fucking love---it fucking slices into your soul
and leaves a gaping hole
so wide you forget everything you know
aside from one steady, simple fact:
that you'd do anything to make her laugh

So...just lay with me and laugh

We're way too young to feel this fucking tired