Ok what is it tonight? At least just tell me what the hell is wrong. I can’t keep playing these guessing games,I can’t keep getting made into something I’m not. You’re my drive, my way to the bottle. Where the top pops off and the vodka burns harshly down my throat. It’s too easy to blame everything on someone else. I’ve mastered the art of drowing in my sorrow. WHoa ho ho ho. Ghostbusters on the big screen, the night gets better from here. Takeout when dorm food won’t settle right, nothing is ever really settling right. I’m up to here in paper and ink, saying “Goddamn enough with the maroon5, I can’t stand this shit.”One more cheesy line, one less sorority girl pinning her grip on, ...you’re so unwelcome here. ......The aching in your conscience will never subside, so just go along and be down with the ride..... ......THE ART OF GROWING UP..... I heard about you tonight, I heard through the phone through the distance- feeling like we’ve never been farther away. And I know things ain’t right, and I know through my third hand story I don’t know anything anymore. Here’s a drink, it always found you well, I know it finds you fucked tonight. Why beat yourself up when someone else tried to bring you down. You’re the man, the best damn thing the east coast has had handle. So handle your shit tonight. You miss the west coast, the way you feel, you miss home tonight. So my thoughts go to Boston to find you to assure you things won’t always be like this, and you didn’t do anything wrong. Some people deserve to be shot. And I dedicate this to DJ, Jp’s ex roommate- may you live a miserable life.. IN JAIL BIOTCH!