midwest emo essentials

...so They Left Me At A Gas Station - Marietta

Cuts

O.K., Mom - Marietta

RealestK - Love me (baby why can't you Love me) Slowed

Audience Of One - This night has opened my eyes

breathing but not alive

I'd like to talk about a few things
Like how the last year has affected me
It may seem like it's nothing, but it's been burning a hole, can’t you see?
So if you could just wait I promise I’ll make it better.

Hold me, I'm a wreck, i neglect and I'm dysfunctional
To everyone around me and you're everyone around
Me, I digress, I can't let You walk away,
I swear I'll change
If you just let me.
so, will you let me?

So could you pull me up, because I feel like I just hit the deep end
But I'm "okay", if that's what you want me to tell you

I'll tell you whatever you want to hear

“I know, I'm sorry
I let this go to waste, I fucking ruin everything”
I know, I'm sorry
But I'm sorry doesn't mean anything


Hold me, I'm a wreck, i neglect and I'm dysfunctional
To everyone around me and you're everyone around
Me, I digress, I can't let you just walk away,
I swear I'll change
If you just let me.
Because I'd love it if you fucking let me


I Am The Boy

The song is based on my poem: 
January: A World Beginning
January wakes slow in the North,
Where frost threads lace on every pane,
And breath becomes a visible thing—
A small white promise leaving lips.
The days are pale, obedient, quiet,
Learning how to lengthen again.
In the mountains of Japan,
Snow falls like the hush after prayer—
Temples ring one clear bell,
And the year bows its head to begin.
In the savannas of Kenya,
The sun is not a stranger—
It stands guard in a copper sky
While acacia shadows stretch like long-limbed dancers.
New rains are stories still being written
Across thirsty soil.
In Argentina, January is a festival—
Mangoes split sweet at dusk,
Children run with bare shoulders,
And time moves with the slow confidence
Of heat shimmering on stone.
The year begins in a summer’s exhale.
In Reykjavik, the night lingers,
A patient guest at every table.
Candles bloom in windows,
And families gather close,
Singing warmth into the dark
With wool, with laughter, with soup.
In India’s north, the morning fog
Rests heavy on the yellow fields;
Kites wait to take the sky at festival time,
Color staking claim against the pale cool heavens.
January is gentle here, but watchful.
In Berlin, London, Montreal—
Grey is not sadness but a canvas
For the smallest sparks of life:
A café window fogged by tea steam,
The sudden flight of pigeons,
A scarf pulled close,
Someone deciding—quietly—
To stay, to try, to begin again.
January is no single thing.
It is hearth and horizon,
Snowstorm and sunstroke,
Dormancy and seed.
It is the earth’s deep breath before speaking,
The human heart clearing space
For whatever might grow.

January is a beginning shaped differently across the world: in the North it wakes slowly, breath turning to frost-threaded lace on glass as days learn to lengthen again, while in Japan snow falls like silence after prayer and bells ring in the new year. In Kenya the sun stands firm over acacia shadows and rains write new stories in the earth, even as Argentina tastes summer—mango-sweet, bare-shouldered, unhurried. Reykjavik keeps candles blooming against the lingering night, India lifts kites into fog-soaked dawn, and cities like Berlin and London wear grey as a quiet canvas for small hopes—a warm scarf, a fogged café window, a moment of deciding to begin once more. January holds both seed and snowstorm, hearth and horizon: the earth breathing in before it speaks, and the human heart making room for what may grow.

Macseal - Twilight Funzone

ash

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