I Want To Re-Invent Your Heartbeat

American jet set. Take-off. Land. Return. Keep quiet. We are so young and cinematic. Just take the keys, start the car and lets go. You know I need my blood stirred. Think of all the New York nights that we spent chasing afternoons, finally paying off.

It's only the dead that say "there's no heaven." And their eyes are Berlin right after the bombing. Agent orange.

As of late, it's pretty much just me and this affair with words. Words that you can hang onto or hang yourself by. At least that's how all the right ones hit me. Every time I find myself here, pulling the skin back, secrets and half truths, for everyone, anyone, and no one at all, it always feels like I have the one set of words inside me that will make all of this make the tiniest bit of sense. At the end of the day, if I haven't made your heart skip a beat, then hate me.

2nd round of lovehostage gear is ready. Keep an eye on the shop later this week, it should be stocked.