biawriteshit

happy birthday bullets. an album which is fundamentally about hanging out outside gas stations at night and getting your eyebrow pierced in a grocery store parking lot and bottom shelf liquor and pot smoke in your hair and cigarette holes on a mildewed couch and cigarette butts in the cup holder and making out with your best friend and fucking your enemy and thinking about killing your boss and your dead cellphone battery and your friend who knows a guy who knows a guy and red slashes through calendar dates and the rusted muscle car up on blocks at the end of the street and past due notices stacking up in the mailbox you don’t check. and also vampires

I can’t think about gerard playing when the toad came home too long or else I’ll disintegrate. that wasn’t stage persona gerard. they wanted to have a little silly moment with us. when my favorite cryptid lets me perceive them for a split second

can we talk about how insane burn bright is. kissed all the boys in your city lights. not ashamed of what i am. they always told me that you'll never get to heaven with a love like yours. cause it makes me who i am. and you made me who i am. be afraid of what i am.