What Seems Tragic Now Won't Even Be

I Don't Know Why, But There's Always The Part Of You, The Part That Hides In The Shadows Protecting The Self-destruct Button, That Doesn't Ever Want To Leave The Dark Behind.

Hundreds Of Butts In Piles On The Ground To Mark The Spot, Their Lives Sucked Out Of Them By Their Users In Panicked Distressed Frenzy, Their Souls Floating Around The Insides Of Lungs While Their Outsides Were Dropped, Stamped On And Deserted

Journalism Classes Teach Us That One Must Extract Oneself From The Story In Order To Report Without Bias, But Often We Need To Be In The Story In Order To Understand, To Connect, To Help The Audience Identify Or Else It Has No Heart; It Could Be A Robot Telling The Story, For All Anyone Cares.

Deep Down, Underneath All His Layers Of Stupidity, He’s A Really Good Man. He May Act Out Far Too Many Selfish Thoughts, Says All The Wrong Things At All The Wrong Times, But Behind Closed Doors He’s A Best Friend. I Understand That He Has Idiotic Tendencies And I Can Still Love Him For It. He May Not Be Someone That You Feel Comfortable Sitting Next To At A Dinner Party But For Me, He’s Someone That I Feel Comfortable Sharing My Life With.

I Can’t Even Think About What Life “could Have Been” Like In Boston, Without Crying. It’s Like Deja-vu, I Don’t Think Me And Boston Were Ever Meant To Be.