Higher space

It is difficult to sing or write in a happy place. Catapult me to higher space.

You can't erase your memory. It is difficult

to be yourself in crowded rooms. They're

all aloof and miserable at home. More than you. That is the way. You can see pretty pictures. They post all day long. You can wait for winter to go. All they do is go off. What happens in your home is the same for them. There is nothing as perfect. You can see them sipping on Rosé. And you can count the scars and bolts upon their face. Misery loves company. When will you defend me?

I would do the same for you! So why are you hesitating?