Smoke Slow

Ed's House

Now That I've Been Honest

Pick Up The Phone

little me

Hypothetically

Other People

Does It Get Cold In California

DEEP!

Red Handed

There’s a photo of us in the hallway,
Worn corners, my arm ‘round your neck.
You were laughing through a black eye,
Said it didn’t hurt—just respect.
It was 3am, ashtrays in the kitchen,
Cheap cider in a K-mart bag.
Your mom passed out on the carpet,
Your dad just a punchline we dragged.

And you swore you’d break the cycle,
But it’s printed in your skin.
Now you blink when a voice gets louder,
Clench your jaw and hold it in.

We were boys with our backs to the thunder,
Still played in the ruins of this town.
We thought silence was a virtue,
Now it just drags us down.
We learned pain was a private language—
Never speak it, just push through.
But I still taste the salt in the wound.
Yeah, I still taste the salt in the wound.

I kissed her in your dad’s old Chevy,
Fogged windows, no heat, no plan.
She said, “You’re good at pretending,”
I said, “I do what I can.”
Your brother pulled a knife in the alley,
For nothing but a look gone wrong.
Now he’s locked in a cage somewhere,
And your mom still swears he’s strong.

We wore grief like hand-me-downs,
Never questioned why it fit.
Now I stare in the glass and see him—
And I bloody hate to admit...
Yeah, I hate to admit...

We were boys with our backs to the thunder,
Still played in the ruins of this town.
We would cut the silence down to size,
We would laugh about and clown
We learned pain was a sacred language—
Never speak it, just push through.
But I still rub the salt in the wound.
Yeah, I still rub the salt in the wound.

I left, thought I’d outrun the storm—
Of fists, of slurs, of rent unpaid.
But I hear it in my own voice now,
And it scares me what I’ve made.

We were boys who mistook survival
For living, and pride for proof.
Now we’re men who barely say it—
But I miss the hell out of youth.
We learned love in a bitter silence,
And it’s still all I can do—
To stop licking the salt in the wound.
Yeah, stop tasting the salt in the wound.

Now we’re men who barely say it—
But I miss the hell out of youth.
We learned love in a bitter silence,
And it’s still all I can do—
And it’s still all I can do—
And it’s still all I can do—

Bitter Silence

Dear Paranoia, Sincerely, Me

OVERDOSE

Does It Get Cold In California

Ben Ellis