you're no longer mine, I already know you didn't need a note, to leave for Mexico I know that you didn't wanna leave me for Tiajuana but it's right on the other side of the boarder line so you snuck out for street tacos and caught the eyes of some vatos and never came home, no you never came home we all need a vacation, just remember to come back with your head the salty eyed tourist found face-down in a ditch the only girl I've ever loved, was killed for a quick buck I don't know how many pesos it takes to save a soul but if I ever fall in love again, I'll carry enough for us both we all need a vacation, just remember to come back with your head

there's a special place in Hell for those that know better but manage to end up there anyway I've seen it in my dreams, Fate whispers that I'll end up repenting there someday I should've known better, I should've known better you know my mom and dad had raised me right I should've known better, I should've known better but those two years in Catholic school and that identity crisis has left me with questions I'll have for the rest of my life so I guess I'm just like everybody else that's burning in Hell

I used to play in this three piece (not a suit, but a band) and I wrote all the drum beats. I was happy as fuck I had it made we were sitting on like seven songs, then Chris moved to LA or technically Riverside? for good reason though... Kelly, Chargers, what up so I found a sort of peace, I mean I started playing shows again, at least, except now your boy was center stage playing songs to no one because I chose to stay I'm scared I'll repeat the life of a deadbeat and just give up one day I'm not giving up tomorrow, I just gave up today

low and belittled, this is killing me my silly expectation of a dream the boys are gonna love the way I wear my hair the girls are gonna hate the way I sing (your spirit animal cannot make you any money in the city zoo) my subconscious probably left me here sipping a sort of chocolate stout doubt inebriated off inhibitions self-identifying as a musician and failing to compose myself at all fuck, maybe I am just a drummer

I don't mind talkin' to myself anymore, though it used to feel like praying and all that I've done since I've renounced religion is been a decent Christian I don't mind drinking by myself anymore though I used to be afraid a spiritual ritual now takes the place of a pretty shameful headspace I don't mind wrestling with my ancestral vice though it has felt nepotistic a surreal flight through the constricts of time prove that my future's still unwritten

what is luxury to a queen? what am I to you? what's a dancing fan to a dying scene? you mean everything to me I'm not sure why you close your eyes, maybe you're thinking of somebody else as our chemistry melts and your heaven becomes a hell but who am i to cry of unrequited love? I'm not who you think I am so undress me with your eyes again undress me with your eyes again, it was a blur and I would like to try remembering it if given the proper chance because every time I close my eyes well all I can see is your body's silhouette, naked except for that black bra but who am i to cry of unrequited love? I'm not who you think I am so undress me with your eyes again

pine tree tea river-side fire breeze I'll never own a fucking gun but shooting one sure made me feel free so if I ever end up homeless there's no way I'm going back to the city I'll accept the wilderness and move to outside of Bonners Ferry and learn to survive

I never meant to be someone so lonely, I've just been writing songs and it never dawned on me, until recently, maybe these songs aren't enough because every time I try to write, true skeletons with no insides, inaccessible to love or light so maybe I should go outside, find some new friends, become inspired to resume documenting my life did I finally teach myself how to lucid dream or am I just awake? I usually don't remember dreams but last night I could see feelings and California's aura was the color green now I'm no dream interpreter, no spirit witch, but I'm pretty sure I know what my subconscious is telling me you see my soul's a unique blue-green, a turquoise like you've never seen the color's been spirit-guiding me if purpose is to find a purpose than coming of age was surely worth it I'll keep writing songs til I make one perfect did I finally teach myself how to lucid dream or am I just awake?

I know I'm not supposed to be happy, but am i allowed to be sad? the only half-assed thing in this room is this drink that you've made me, knowing that if I still feel then I can't get mad feelin' like shit, but I'm looking around and I'm not that different there is a hell and there's room for all of us but I'm not here to soap box preach the only thing I'll stand on is the collective failure of everyone while I pretend that my dreams are still within reach feelin' like shit, but I'm looking around and I'm not that different the shadows (if you're not careful) will swallow you whole they'll take your soul I don't know how deep the abyss goes, but I've been deep enough so I'm climbing out until my lungs explode

I'm embarrassed to say that when I met you I was afraid to hold you. I was afraid of you. I thought that you could somehow sense what kind of man I was through your innocent skin if I was to touch you and you would shrivel up in front of my unworthy eyes. I was humbled by the way you fit so perfectly inside my forearm like it was meant to be. i could feel you breathe that yellow aura of majesty. I marveled at your existence the love child of two of my best friends. I was watching you grow up seconds at a time. It was easier to hide those tears from your parents as I cradled you to sleep in my arms. we met again when you were 9 months old. You looked exactly like your dad and its hard to explain but that made it way more real. And by it I obviously mean your divine, sublime, previously surreal existence. Baby Brooklyn, you are perfection in the form of an undeveloped human. My finger felt like the center of a black hole in the grasp of your tiny left hand. Our blue eyes met as your fingers and thumb clasped my index, the way my 28-year old hands might clasp a fucking beer your eyes were as blue as a BB KING song. I pulled my pointer finger away and asked you, "Aren't you tired of being poked, pet, praised, pampered and passed by all these foreign faces fucking cuddling and coddling, oochie-coochying and then carrying you to some other high-pitched baby-talking face you don't recognize? That's got to get old, right, Brooklyn?" There were only two words that you could have spoken to me at that point, "mama" or "dada" and you knew you couldn't actually answer me... so you spoke with your brilliant blue eyes I smiled, I mean what else could I do? I don't even really know you and I love you with my entire being and I always will. Your mom laughed at my question, I'm sure because she's been asked it before or something similar to varying degrees. Brooklyn... You are absolutely surrounded by love. If Uncle James and Auntie Auben's wedding is any indication of what sort of community you are going to be growing up in... You are one lucky girl and I can't wait til you are old enough to make fun of me for crying during this

hey, you had a bad trip

my favorite kind of sunshine is that little bit reflecting off your jewelry as your dancing now there ain't an English word for that, but the Japanese have a term for sunlight sneaking through the leaves: komorebi so I'll keep expanding on this lexicon, trying to find words that help tell how I feel because you've been gone for way too long, I've had to dream about a girl I used to know was real I've become a daydreamer even my size 12 Jedi feet are in the clouds now, cloud 9 because of you you make my insides feel like I used to imagine lovers' do sorta like you're upside down without the disorientation of going up or coming down focused on finding new phrases to say I love you and have you understand the feeling because I've become a daydreamer