7/12/16

Writing lyrics is hard. Especially when you have no content in your life to write about. I don't understand the people who write themed music, stories made out of thin air on a whim. If it's not me, I can't write it. What is there to write?

Writing lyrics is damn hard. The last time I wrote good lyrics was when I journaled. So screw this fake ass, people pleasing, mainstream lyrical content I've been trying to do the past couple weeks.
To go against everything I've just written above, here is a lyric from Beenzino.

I’m unique So unique
I’m so busy I’m being myself
난 흑인 백인도 아니지
I’m busy I’m being myself
I’m unique So unique
I’m so busy I’m being myself
난 외계인 이계인도 아니지
I’m busy I’m being my

Wow. So deep.

It's nice to see people.

I also hate it, because we all know wassup.

뻔한 "How are you doing?" "I'm doing okay."

I write all my shit on my blog; how the fuck do you think I'm doing.
Spare me. I don't hate you. I just hate the small talk.
It's not even that I think it's your small talk, 'cos that's as far as I'm willing to go too.
So spare me. Just tell me you've been praying for me. And if you haven't, don't worry, 'cos I'm not.
Do you really expect me to just say "My life is a mess. Please help?" There's a reason I'm not around: I don't want your help. Actually, I just want it gone.

I'm not recharged by unexpected encounters. I feel a heavy sadness come over me, like the painkillers have worn off. It's my family's last dinner altogether, but I can't even put on a smile or crack a joke. I just look past their faces to the table where my two friends are sitting, hiding behind their heads, wondering, the lonely boy I abandoned, secretly if they're talking about me when I'm not around.



What did the prodigal son feel when he ran away from his home? Maybe the same. Seems like he didn't give two shits. Maybe the reason why he partied so hard was because he gave ten shits actually. Because he regretted it so much, but his pride said it was too late to turn around, so he drowned his depression with pussy and prescriptions.

I must say:

I'm not really sorry, but I wanna go back.
I'm not really interested in the kingdom right now

But I do miss its people

I wanna go back, but I'm not really sorry.
That's why you don't see me around.

It'd be nice if, if I go back, you pretend like poor me, poor confused soul, I did nothing wrong.
But I would rather the just reaction be and you hate me. It would only be right.

So please, until I beg and plead, I implore you to hate me if I've made your life harder than it already is. Maybe it's the only way I'll learn how fragile your hearts are.

I don't hate any of you all. But the reverse is true. I don't truly love any of you all.
No. I'm not a saint. No. Not by any means.

I don't know what love is. Can I say I love myself? I don't consider self-love love. And no, I don't think I do. Would I be living my life the way I am if I did?

If every day is filled with a thousand thoughts, nine-hundred of them are yours.