oh, conor oberst, you're still a brilliant songwriter
what stalls the words? a reaction resembling indifference
and i'm clawing my own skin with red "Senseless" painted nails trying to resist the alluring flush of fresh wounds brought about by metal and a broken heart
the time it took: a smoke (or 20), and a drive after the buzz had faded
the light blinked off with nothing but my words on invisible tape
oddly, conor's strained voice and barely post-pubescent acoustic chords were not needed tonight. i did it, my own way. and i slept without tears in my eyes or tears in my skin