There's A Party Next Door.

I'm getting tired of looking at beautiful kinds of things. So I stopped coming out to catch a breeze and something else that isn't just a bit tense and surreal and goddamn small and pretty. Like its printed all over this world of dirty words and my opaque face is here to chomp it all away. But it won't stop. Like a large blue wall that isn't anything but blue and bangs and beautiful. Beautiful is overshot. Let's use the word overaching instead. Or pristine. If I remembered what Byzantine meant, I would use that too. But I can't help but feel depressed about not pinning my books to the wall to show off the intellect that I pretend to build behind you.