Let Me Do My Job.

This is the story of the wild and radiant west with the babies we almost had burning their fingers in the fires we started. Ripping the stars outs of the sky and squashing them with our bare feet, and there you have it: dead babies, and dead stars, and dead lovers.

Please fall in love with me, I feel the need to cause pain.

This is the story of our darling Louis with blisters all up his arms. Companies you made, “You’ll get fifty percent, kid. You’re the only one keeping me good.” You make me cry. Shitty motels and too much love for us to ever be sane again.