A copy of Suburban Ballet burned from Tommy's computer. Comes with a handwritten note.
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lyrics
[for Lex.]
Everybody’s home from college for the first time since March. Over Half Apps they’ll tell me all these “you had to be there” stories of how much they drank and the strangers they’ve kissed and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more far away. We were those “fucked up” kids with the two-hundred disorders we heard about on TV but aren’t in the books. Now we’re grown up or at least they are because I’m held up in a bathroom at work suffocating on all of the greens and golds. I’ve always wanted the freedom to go “fuck shit up,” but I haven’t the faintest idea of what that even means. So tonight I’ll get my usual drink, inadequacy. It’s the only thing I’ve tried here and it’s much cheaper than the wine. For the title fight, it’s me vs. stability. I hear the ref calling out two black eyes. I think both of them are mine. It’s at parties in basements where I feel most out of place and Brittany has to come over and ask if I’m alright but I like watching all the kids that I wish I were friends with and the girl who makes fat in how she won’t ever cross the room and I’m as disposable as that balled-up tissue that her ex throws away when he’s done thinking about her. Maybe if this wolf was thinner, or had better hair he’d have a better chance of dwelling with that blue-eyed lamb. My inner monologue is screaming to be heard above the static. It knows as well as I do that I’m not like the other boys. I just wanted to be just a little bit of everything but my back breaks from the weight of my suburban mediocrity. Years ago, I was told to stop thinking and just sing but growing up, I’ve found it’s better for the soul just to scream. I’ve been looking at my yearbook photo and the clocks have got me beat. I’ll never return to that place for it’s now just an empty glove. I spent the latter part of that year in Lex’s passenger seat and I took those rides for granted like all the things that I have loved.
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