final take 2

Can't write emo poems,
they bring you nothing but thoughts;
of change,
unavoidable change.
What can we do my friend?
The thing we brought upon ourself.
Its empty.
All Clear Signal

Ears are tired.
I've heard this before.
Can't comprehend at 4 am in the moring.
And all i wanna do,
is sleep,
wake up to a whole new day,
new house,
almost 19,
almost there,
changed.

God, i'm gonna miss everything, this, that, you.