Houston. We Have A Drinking Problem.

there was laughter one fall ago, now its distilled. the remenats are tinted brown sinking to the cup tipped upfor a toast. your window is a television lit up with a line of pretty people waiting for their fifteen minutes. the actors are fake friends but at least i know they dont secretly hate me. can you hear me? can you hear me clipping on your radio? theres a song playing on my stereo. i sing along wishing i could become a vessel so my soul can soar, can travel back in time. i sing along to my stereo. it always sounds better in my head. i wanted to write a fuck you song, now i know that the you could be me. theres a vague resemblance in the looking glass to a person that i once knew. maybe hed tell me, "its a sad stale coffee cup slogan, youre not going to make it."