take a stab at me

she's another cigarette in my black parade, a part of the withering stream of disappointment. i am emerging more alive and more enraged and more independent and more jaunty than ever before. i can thank her for highlighting my last remaining vulnerability, for splashing some light on my childish fears. i am growing into a giant bottle of soda, a vault for my insecurities, a mountain of refreshing dew, a new beginning with each missed sunrise. i have waking dreams about sleeping, i have nightmares about being awake. i am as empty as a boy can be. i breathe in the spirits of those around me, exhaling as soon as they turn away. the meditation of appropriation, the sickliness of my missing identity. i will, as the man says, fuck you till you love me.




(what else is great is old trail of dead. so sloppily complicated, earnest, smirking, hinting at the manic perfection to come. i could listen to it forever.)