I’m a psych patient at my university because they like to cover their asses. I tell my doctor that I’ve been doing well when I haven’t been showing up for classes, and I don’t know what to say when my parents ask if I’m getting what they’ve paid for. I pray to anyone that they don’t. 

But I met someone, when I was over there, who made me wish that I was right back here. He’s not why I can’t write more than two double-spaced, but he’s much nicer to think of than my, quote, “disabling” fears. 

We seem to melt into each other every goddamn time we touch, and I can’t get that thought out of my head. And there were some things only we could know, but that was just a year ago as if, somehow, we both knew the world would end. 

And I hope that he still thinks of me—stupid, and pathetically—but I’m much more fine with that than this, quote, “disability.” And my doctor says I hate myself, and my parents say I hate myself—maybe I hate myself, too. 

Is that why I can’t do the things that I’ve said I always wanted to, or is there the slightest chance that it’s all in my best interest? I’ve got white noise on full blast, the only frequency that I can stomach, and I pace until I fall asleep and I wake up running.

Line 15 (demo) - 3.23.21

All songs recorded by Victoria Garces in a university dorm closet.

Homesick

July 1 - Late Night

Til I Die

was playing around with the keys + accidentally did a cover of daniel tanghal's college degree.

i did a cover of college degree

lost the weight that i put on when i was off my meds,
still i lie awake at night wondering when it will end.
then you call me up + we fall in love
over whatever the hell is in my cup
+ mindless chatter. who says it doesn't matter?
because everything means so damn much to me.

i could spend an evening dissecting the timbre of your speech, 
crafting lines to waste our time, + extracting lyrics from our eyes.
when did i stop missing massachusetts while i slept
+ replace my dreams with visions of your lips,
your hands, the color of the light on your hair as you dance?

why am i not as tired as i've been when i look in your eyes?
why am i not as tired as i should be when you take over my night?
i'll scratch your likeness on the backs of receipts + the pages of my literature.
could i scare you away, make you wish you were here?

i've written love songs to try + get my friends to save me
because maybe if we were sure of something i wouldn't need no one to save me. 
i used him. he used me. called it love, called it symmetry.
here we go again. i won't do it again
because you mean so goddamn fucking much to me! 
i could spend the dead of night making progress with my mind,
+ perfecting my art with you on my wall underneath the dimming lights.
when did i stop missing massachusetts while i slept
+ replace my dreams with visions of your lips,
your hands, the color of the light on your hair as you dance?

why am i not as tired as i've been when i look in your eyes?
why am i not as tired as i should be when you take over my night?
i'll scratch your likeness on the backs of receipts + the pages of my literature.
could i scare you away, make you wish you were here?

your lips, your hands, the color of the light on your hair on your dance.

why am i not as tired as i've been when i look in your eyes?
why am i not as tired as i should be when you take over my night?
i'll scratch your likeness on the backs of receipts + the pages of my literature.
could i scare you away, make you wish you were here?

Massachusetts (ft. Ozzy Villaseñor) - 5.15.20

got the same voice under the needle again.
i like to board up my eyes + pretend 
we meet up, seeking refuge in the day's end, 
because i miss the way you'd read the etchings in my head  

+ play the muse by holding up a mirror. 
you know, i'm told there was a subtext that i missed there. 
we shared a laugh over a shared, missed nostalgia. 
but were they wrong, or was I wrong? do you swear?  

+ i get nervous when the sun sets sooner 
+ i don't want to talk to no one but you. 
yeah, the days get shorter, but time still feels too long, 
so won't you have me? i'll let you prove me wrong.  

maybe i just prefer the sets to rise 
because i don't like reminders of the wasted nights 
+ i can't sleep or conjure images inside. 
so love, now, won't you tell me where you hide? 

i'm so close to painting poppies on my wrist. 
i'm not saying that for you, i just want to know if the words fit. 
you used to say to me the world's not ending, 
though it already had. what do we do now that we missed it?  

+ i get nervous when the sun sets sooner 
+ i don't want to talk to no one but you. 
yeah, the days get shorter, but time still feels too long, 
so won't you have me? i'll let you prove me wrong again.

Ghost Dog Songs

Prove Me Wrong

there are so many bodies i have had to dig up. 
i've found that each one that i buried traces back to your touch, 
so don't blame me for taking out the quickest route. 
if it's any consolation, i am just as lost as you.  

because each time they cry, it's not their eyes but yours i meet. 
no wonder i'm running into walls, my gaze directed at my feet. 
+ all those cemetery serenades seem to reverberate.
i've been humming along + dancing with them all as of late.  

i want to harvest all of my veins + spin a yarn, 
crochet a coat to shield you from the cold's lonely arms. 
it's not like i'm not in your blood already + in your mind. 
i know because the wind, it taunts me, says, "i made you look behind!"  

+ i'm told i've got a gift with the grotesque, 
paint it in such a way that it's almost romantic. 
is this what he meant?  

we were jet engines, we were power lines, 
at each other's throats for most of our lives. 
so now, if not in flashbacks, of all i could ask you: 
oh love, now, when i stumble, tell me--do you fall, too?

Cemetery Serenade

finally covered Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin

brushing the dust off my screamy band voice w/ shoegaze Phantomwise

demos, covers, and otherwise unpolished takes on possibly familiar tunes from Other Plans, Ani Ces, and any other project I’ve contributed to.

Ani Ces

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