And maybe I'll sleep at the station because there's nothing to go home to but an empty fridge and some stale mayonnaise.

And maybe I'll make friends with the guys sleeping under cardboard boxes and newspapers and we'll discuss what it means to love and to live.

And maybe I'll wander the city, one lost particle in a dust storm of Mondays, late nights and reports due yesterday.

And maybe I'll get on a plane or a ship and get lost in places I've never been lost in before.

And maybe I'll keep my phone on me in case you call. And tell me there's something to come home to.

Don't be shy. You can take another piece of me. Everyone else already has.

Until there's nothing left. Until I disappear

Dear Diary,

Today I let the mask slip just a little and all the villains come flooding in.

While I don't expect you, as a book filled with lines, to understand my predicament, understand that I will be home late tonight. There will be blood on my costume. And the dishes will have to wait.

You will not save the Earth, gunning down aliens from the back of your Hummer.

You will not save the Earth, smashing zombies in the face with a spade.

You will not save the Earth, standing on a burning car (your fist in the air).

You will not save the Earth by deciding which wire to cut (red/blue) at the last second.

You will save the Earth when you decide to start picking up your shit.

You will save the Earth when you decide to start picking up your shit on the beaches.

You will save the Earth when you decide to start picking up your shit in the fields and in the streets.

You will save the Earth when you decide to start picking up your shit in the hills.
And we shall never surrender.

You asked why people always expected you to smile in photographs. And I told you it was because they hoped that in the future, there would be something to smile about.

You say that the way I feel, it's all just chemicals in my brain.

It's all just strange air in my atmosphere.

It's all just new colours in my rivers.

But you are my industry.

You are my factory.

You are my smoke stacks.

You are my production line.

You are my cheap sneakers.

You are my fast food.

And I'm a planet you once called home.

That's nearly out of air.