Hello! I just wrote this…I’ll edit later, probably kinda weird.
I’ve played your songs so many times
my imaginary friend
thank you for the cd.
Shh, trent reznor, quiet your emotions.
You were so loud, so cute.
I have a couple good arms, and I can beat myself up, too.
Smooth melodies that make me—well
make me orgasm in some ear-related way
l—there, I said it.
Yes, I still leave my underwear draw open, occasionally
but more often I stay golden, as Hinton mentioned,
I don’t get caught, no one comes in, anyways.
Asks if anyone can hear me?
a woman with words, fear, and forced protest
time for the future, kids. Ready?
Just stare into the sun, smell the spirit in the air
take sip and then just walk away
a death in personal religion, begins with a death in hope.
Yet we are all reborn again.
Doesn’t matter how you live or where you’ll leave to
the love and the loneliness always spills
the cages start to look more like freedom,
and the freedom more like giant cages
the only escape being…the obvious age-old answer.
In death we remember our manners, I guess.
It isn’t as gruesome as an old flick
just an unresolved—or resolved, resolution.