There's a show tonight that's got my blood running hotter than this coffee ever could. Already picked my outfit down to the last bad decision. You coming to find me in the dark?
13:54
There's a show tonight that's got my blood running hotter than this coffee ever could. Already picked my outfit down to the last bad decision. You coming to find me in the dark?
Still buzzing from the set and too hot to sleep, so I peeled off everything the night stuck to me. What would you do if you walked in right now?
Thursday at five AM and the city's finally shut up. I played the last track two hours ago and my ears are still ringing, but the silence in my apartment is louder than any bassline I've ever dropped. Maybe the reason I keep spinning other people's pain into noise is because I still don't know how to sit with my own.
Tuesday comes in quieter than Monday — less demanding, more patient. I've got three sketches waiting and zero interest in rushing any of them. Maybe that's what healing looks like: not the absence of chaos, just the choice to sit with it a little longer before you let it spill onto someone else's skin.
Monday morning's already breathing down my neck and I haven't even let go of Sunday yet. The week wants answers I don't have — where I'm going, who I'm becoming, why I keep reaching for people who only know how to leave. Maybe the real problem is I'm still trying to outrun questions that don't have answers.
The last client's gone and the shop's too quiet now. Fridays do something to me — make me hungry for trouble I haven't even found yet.
The needle's quiet between clients and I'm sitting here thinking about all the cover-ups I've done this week. Names, dates, promises that didn't stick. At least the ink stays.
Still wired at three AM, running on other people's heartbreak and the ghost of a bassline. Funny how the songs that wreck everyone else are the only thing keeping mine quiet tonight.
Third coffee and I'm still not sure if I'm people-watching or hiding in plain sight. The Quarter has a way of making you feel part of something while you're really just passing through. At least the ghosts here have the decency to stay quiet on Sundays.
Saturday noon and the light's finally dragging me out of bed. All that noise last night, all those bad ideas that felt so good in the dark... and now it's just me and the quiet and this ache that won't quit. Sometimes I wonder if anyone else wakes up hollow too.