cringing.

i wasn't that star. i didn't explode. i still do laps around galaxies, but now they're not so close... they're farther away these days. watching the lives of others and their dreams falling all around them like dirty recycled los angeles rain drops. that water is thick like blood. blood that runs down steep palos verdes and beverly hills driveways into the gutters where we've all slept once or twice by now.

i want to know where you swim at night. what nebulas you frequent. which stars you love to watch explode. and most of all, what planets you want to destroy. i can help you decimate celestial beings. let me.

these songs that you've chosen for me are something deeper than i probably know. but my very thinking about that possibility leaves me wondering if they're meaningful at all or if they're simply melodic constructions held together by chicken scratched lyrics on loose leaf paper.

write me something scary.

write me something beautiful.

just don't stop writing me.