Despondency is the Mother of Reinvention

You sit outside covered by the sunset’s orange light.

That’s how you stay oh so warm.

I am inside, cold from the rain of scratched up old LPs.

That’s why they’re warn.

I see you outside.

You say hi, but you’re just being nice, because you are oh so warm.

But I am inside, pale and thin like I’m tweaking.

Well last year I thought:

I will leave this town and turn myself around.

No more agoraphobia.

And I know that there is no heaven.

So why the hell am I suffering?

And I know that they have lots of fun.

But I don’t want to be someone else… because I hate everyone.

Soon I will be freed.