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The red ones make me fly...

I pop the pill in my mouth. It's not red, but it reminds me of my favorite song. Why do i do this? I shouldn't. I don't really have to anymore. It just, oh. It feels so damn good. The numbness of my arms, my limbs. The way i know what to say, what to do, and i'll be okay, if only until it wears off.

The blue ones help me fall...

The way that i come down, if i need to. Just take one. Or a drink. It's all gone, now. Oh god, why? When i'm there, i'm not here. I want both. What do i- Fuck. I need you, i need this. What do i do? No one knows but me. And even i don't know. I think that if i really wanted to know, i could find out, but i'm intimidated by the thought of the truth.

We'll fly home...

That's what i want with you. I want to fly. To leave this hell, to go home. But the only way to go home, is to be with you. I can't leave you, you won't leave me either. Depression. Oh how deadly are you. The choking, mind-numbing fear of death, of happiness even. I can't go on, without the thing i need. I need music to keep me sane.

Blow my brain against the ceiling...

The fleeting thought of just how nice it would be to see this was frightening. Wouldn't i love to kill myself? I would. But i can't. All that's at stake. If only for the beating, the comfort in knowing i'm okay for the moment. And i swallow again. The deep burning liquid is so comforting, it's my medicine.

As the fragments of my skull begin to fall...

Or rather, as they begin to throb from the coming down. I don't want to come down. The only thing to do, is begin again. i'll try tomorrow to stop my games. I don't want to be like this anymore. I want to get over my fears, my hatred. Most of which is directed at myself.

We'll fly home. . .

We'll fly home. . .

You and i, i, i, i. . .

We'll fly home.

Description
The red ones make me fly...

I pop the pill in my mouth. It's not red, but it reminds me of my favorite song. Why do i do this? I shouldn't. I don't really have to anymore. It just, oh. It feels so damn good. The numbness of my arms, my limbs. The way i know what to say, what to do, and i'll be okay, if only until it wears off.

The blue ones help me fall...

The way that i come down, if i need to. Just take one. Or a drink. It's all gone, now. Oh god, why? When i'm there, i'm not here. I want both. What do i- Fuck. I need you, i need this. What do i do? No one knows but me. And even i don't know. I think that if i really wanted to know, i could find out, but i'm intimidated by the thought of the truth.

We'll fly home...

That's what i want with you. I want to fly. To leave this hell, to go home. But the only way to go home, is to be with you. I can't leave you, you won't leave me either. Depression. Oh how deadly are you. The choking, mind-numbing fear of death, of happiness even. I can't go on, without the thing i need. I need music to keep me sane.

Blow my brain against the ceiling...

The fleeting thought of just how nice it would be to see this was frightening. Wouldn't i love to kill myself? I would. But i can't. All that's at stake. If only for the beating, the comfort in knowing i'm okay for the moment. And i swallow again. The deep burning liquid is so comforting, it's my medicine.

As the fragments of my skull begin to fall...

Or rather, as they begin to throb from the coming down. I don't want to come down. The only thing to do, is begin again. i'll try tomorrow to stop my games. I don't want to be like this anymore. I want to get over my fears, my hatred. Most of which is directed at myself.

We'll fly home. . .

We'll fly home. . .

You and i, i, i, i. . .

We'll fly home.