melted

we listen to trash music

your heavy metal, screaming silence in the midst of barking dogs is no comparison for the garbage blaring out of my earbuds.

the album covers i see are filled with blood, guts and gore, skeletons and blank stares, but they trouble you none; yet mine of blues and breezes make you scowl.

i hum along to a distant melody, breaking out into song as the chorus approaches, twirling about on the hardwood floor, and you will have none of it but my fun.

my music is trash, but you listen anyway.

you listen to my rambling, the kind i grow tired of easily but spout all too often myself, but you seem so interested that i go on and on; i listen to you and i hear insight to an indefinitely high degree, jokes aside, you are intelligent and observant, a scientist of my emotions, and i am unwilling to let you go.

people with their crying; they whine about being unloved and not doing well, how horrible their writing is and how they can't draw, how they're forever single, yet their problems seem like useless banter pitted up against one another.

your music is trash, but i'll listen anyway.