In No Particular Order

Think about him.

How do you feel now?

"Indifferent.

I was a child."

Think about that.

The fan is spinning.

Clothes all over my bed,

like a girl who can't decide what to wear to a party where she knows no one.

A dying rose. A shot glass as the vase.

Flea market sunglasses.

A keyboard.

I thought I was intuitive.

I had myself all convinced over a gut feeling.

Maybe I gave myself too much credit.

Cause the truth is everything happens for a reason, but we have no fucking idea what that reason is.

Get inside my head.

Get inside my body.

I wan't to demand greatness.

But I only want to be alone when I choose to be.

Not when I am forced.