Songs don’t write themselves

Songs don’t write themselves. Lead can’t lick the paper without a hand to taper it down, neither can dreams come true without a mind to house them. We are the kids who’ve lived through a great change, from bruises and excuses to wins and loses. The pressure never lifts and the diamond you are crumbles and sifts, returning into the earths dying crust. 

You MUST follow your instincts, you WILL do what they say. Following your dreams on a broken path, stepping on a cracked sidewalk that’ll give out any day. Breaking backs and burning bridges along the way. Follow through, or fall though? The choice is yours to make, don’t make a mistake.

 I dwell on the loss of what could’ve been if I had just focused sooner. I should’ve been great before I was born, I regret it every day. Why couldn’t I have willed myself into existence when the world could’ve loved me? Whether I choose it or not, I’m a walking sin. I don’t feel so alone knowing the whole world has been. I can still succeed, right? 

It’d be so easy to sleep, sleep, sleep until I’ve grown into the sheets and I’m stuck in a loop with my dreams. They look happier in my mind, shuffle for the remote to press rewind over and over again. Not wanting to go back to the wake, the work, the week, the will, the won’t. There is only write and wrong. So wrong. This is an unwritten song. 

I’ll catch up with you later, 

ellavelluh