Shine the headlight
Straight into my eyes
Like the roadkill
I'm paralysed
You see through my disguise

At the drive-in
Double feature
Pull the leaver
Break the fever
And say the last good-bye

Since I was born I started to decay
Now nothing ever ever goes my way

One fluid gesture
Like stepping back in time
Trapped in amber
Petrified and still not satisfied

Airs and social graces
Elocution so divine
I'll stick to my needle
And my favourite waste of time
Both spineless and sublime

Since I was born I started to decay
Now nothing ever ever goes my way



This describes how I'm feeling right now, this instant. I haven't had the crave to listen to Placebo since...

Since my horrible summer.

Now, Brian Molko comes back, full force, into my head, the volume loud, the sound pouring into my soul, and I feel like I did in the shadow of the summer. Wanting more, when none exists in the first place. I've become what I always knew I was- a loser. I should be happy. I've got her, and she's all I ever need. But, I feel a gap. It's not her fault. Nothing is ever her fault. It's all because of myself. Brian Molko and I, were a team. He moves what I think in circles and pours the mixture into a vat of dark liquid, and even the light from this computer dims in my mind. I want a drug. I want to wake up and not remember a damn thing. I want to wake up, refreshed. I want to live a life like that guy in Brick. With a false sense of purpose, with a mask. A mask I can never take off. I want everyone to hate me. If no-one gave a damn, I could be free to hate myself without feeling guilt for dumping my Placebo induced depression on her. She doesn't need this. She should go out and get a guy that doesn't complain, that just shuts his head and doesn't think. We all should shut our heads. Staple them closed, and tie our eyes closed. So we don't have to see where we're going, nor we're we've been.

I often say, "I'd not change a damn thing. I love where I am." While I didn't lie, I feel like instead of a whole sentence, I only spoke a few syllables. I don't know what to do. Sleep would cure all, but I can't let myself escape. I've got the power to ******** fix myself, yet I let myself suffer.

I'm not a masochist. I just seem to enjoy being unhappy. It gives me purpose. But, it's a purpose I'd like to avoid.



Every morning my eyes will open wide
I gotta get high before I go outside
Roll another for breakfast
Burning clouds around and in my solar plexus