I came on here to write about how his face looked when his slut of a beer pong partner insisted on finding out what happened to that old denim vest. About how I cut him off mid-sentance because I couldn't bare to watch him stumble for an answer anymore, and explained to her that it didn't matter. And the look of gratitude he gave me, when he saw me turn away with tears in my eyes. I was going to, until I realized how pathetically useless it would be. Because at the end of the night, he fucked her, I loved Jacob, and we both forgot about how fucked up you actually are.

Yeah.

Sometimes,

I really don't know what to do.

About anything.

Lock me in a straight jacket,
Send me to the mountains.
The sun knows my story,
The moon knows my tears.
While my love holds my hand,
my friend's become lost years.

My mind must be Da Vinci,
My heart must be Dali,
And my liver may not survive...