the punctuation might be off; if it fucks with your interpretation of the song, then ignore it. some of these haven't been recorded yet.

untitled it's a swiftly moving narrative, a teenage tale of regret. aimless walking through this town with nameless faces in a crowd. too many nights spent like cowards to take the prize of cheap lovers. i can't bring myself into focus, but these photographs are too honest. this is the plot of a nihilist novel; it starts with hope and ends at my funeral. in it, you wrote my requiem and you told it loud and clear. it spoke of wasted youth and the weight of the past two years. these images keep running through my head of dying again and again. can you feel the sidewalk sinking? broken bottles, empty feelings. this song is unfinished, and likely to stay that way. the emotions and scenarios that brought it to life are a thing of the past. my feet are tired from this town. i started writing it too late.

fuck surrounded by fields endless to the horizon, it's all it can be and tonight is when i am at my best: under the skies so clear. tonight is golden, but tomorrow is real. the tops of parking complexes don't compare to the moonlit valleys or mountain air. what's the real soundtrack to a summer? we let these artificial mixtapes take over. maybe all we need is you and me. the stars are as bright as i've ever seen. they say that these days are the best of our lives, that if we fuck up now we'll lose all this time. to live with regrets isn't to live; it's to die slowly wondering what could have been. so i'll smoke the cigarettes, and you drink the wine. let's get fucked up because anyday we might die. this mentality reeks of the sins of our past. it's a steep slope so this drag should be my last. but you know i'm not one for considering long, and i know you're not one in for the long haul. next year, this date, will this time stay with me? tomorrow tonight i hope i'll keep this memory. nature has a way of absolving you of your sins, of clearing all of the bullshit from your mind.

dear saku hey kid, come sit a spell. let me tell you what it's like to be only sixteen but jaded beyond belief. it's like watching the sunset turn into the night; too many stars shining too bright. i can see you in ten years, thinking like me. you'll make your mistakes; you might lose sight of what matters in times like these. and if it comes to that, if i'm not dead, i'll be there. and even if, don't worry, this song will lull you to sleep. for my little cousin. she doesn't speak english, so i'm not quite sure why i wrote this. i realized that in the middle of writing it, but it has some potential (i think), so i'll keep writing.

conscience how far will this train take me today? let's make war with our words and never repent the innate depression that comes with these thoughts. and as the dream slowly gives way to the sounds of heartache over the months, i'll make up anything to get out of explaining the paths i have crossed. it's not written in the stars. it's right here in my heart: the words that always keep me going strong. and i don't see it in their lies. it's missing from your eyes: passion, emotion, or semblances of pain at the world around you, at the concrete buildings, at the starving children dying everyday, while we sit here talking, sipping coffee, half drunk, happy. i'll try to write all of these songs, and maybe in some coffeeshop you'll learn to sing along, and then i'll open for some band you can jam on the drums. for a couple of minutes we'll be as one. you'll smash those buckets, pretend they're the state. i'll forget about conscience. it's about wanting to run away, but not having the courage; about being disgusted with your friends, society, and more importantly, yourself. but it's also about hope.

to someone so, the long nights that i spent sitting on a rooftop or bunkered in my room, listening to sorrow, sing along to hope, dreaming of tomorrow. this is how i cope with questions of existence, visions of truth. grasping at a meaning only drifting through. pondering the answers, drinking till i throw up, late night trips to wendy's, semblances of love. the questions never answered the words we never meant. will they come back to haunt our remaining conscience? you said that you would write, you said that you would call. but it's fucking meaningless when we're so far apart. so, the days that drift away from my dying memories. well, you're never one to say the words that really matter, promises we could keep. i guess this is farewell. i hope you'll be happy with what you've done for nothing, and what you've killed for me, or what you've left behind, this fucking poetry. or let's just call it soundwaves and letters on a sheet. and even though it means nothing to you it's something to me. relationships, whether sexual, platonic, or even familial, are fleeting and fragile; and distance kills.

etched advancing an agenda to my own benefit; it involves introspection and twelve easy steps. at some point there will be a reason revealed to us all in a moment of truth. but until then, it's only us living with the day-to-day knowledge that we've got nothing to lose. and so we'll strike back against the cops and the system. end up in uncompromosing positions. between now and then, do we die or stay hopeful of another night that captures our hearts the same way? but it's lost so quickly in the shroud of authority. said "never forget" but now we can't see so clearly . this isn't what i was looking for (we all wanted so much more). the weight of everyday crushes what little we have. soon enough we'll have said all we can say. and when we let our relationships fall apart, or consider the ones we never start, then the white flag goes up and we'll surrender. maybe the way we're living now isn't the answer. and then and only then will we see what we're made of. something more than everything we thought that we hated. etched in our minds is a longing for sunsets; a glimmering of love found in the comfort of distance. a lot of shit happened one night, cops, drugs, a whirlwind of the epitome of what they mean by "live like you mean it". but months later, the memories fade; like tattoos, what we think is meaningful and life changing quickly regresses into another story to tell. i hoped that it meant more than it did.

confession well, tonight, we just saw the sun set as pure as the motive we have for being here under the stars that we never knew existed. and if i could change anything, i'd change nothing. the grass is still wet from the lazy morning dew. and it takes a lot to keep me from dying here lying next to you. i wish i could tell you all of this straight to your face; then i wouldn't have to risk it coming out so wrong like everything else i've done around you. i wrote this song for a girl; i was trying to get laid; it didn't work. it's unfinished, and i don't really have a desire to finish it, a.) because it wasn't good enough to get me laid and b.) because i got over my crush on her already.

one another as i lay outside drinking, something changed in my thinking. contemplating, but you were sleeping. i guess i'll just keep on listening to the country songs; they made no sense but that's just how it goes. and if i walked across distant highways, maybe i would figure out what those country songs were all about. another stateline crossed means nothing in this world of airplanes, but i'm doing my best to get out of this town. but these limitations: court citations, working temp through school vacation. the other day he broke my heart: the homeless man outside the station. another song, another story. first world problem: this life's so boring. i just want to leave it all behind. and right where the interstate meets public housing there's a place where you can't see the sun or moon. i swear all of the stars are missing and it reminded me of you. there's a lot out there, and sometimes i think that it's all waiting for me.

sappy teenage poetry this is all that i know to be true. it's another open letter to you. i can't say that it'll all make sense but please just read to the very end. ignore the awkward break on the page. ignore the awkward clear tear stain. don't ask me if was drunk again, because you know damn well that i haven't changed. and i swear it's the last time i'll try to make out what those nights were trying to say to us. i want this letter to be your last memory of that summer long past and me. i heard you found god in an empty school playground, that you've been singing the same songs that i have. all i remember is the clear summer day, not by choice, but we went our separate ways. you've been sleeping around, doing your best to forget. i think that we'll both always have our regrets. i don't know if we'll ever be friends. but now we're both over it. so consider this; it's the most honest i've ever been. these are the words i could never say in person. regrets aside, at least i'm not a virgin.