12 fans
i am not here to entertain you, i am here to bleed on a record. when love dies, where do the memories go? is the first scrap of my diary i am throwing into the void. three acts, no safety, no filter. the past is a graveyard of failures, the present is the suffocating mask i wear to fit in, and the future is a fragile wreckage of everything i dare to dream. i am not a polished artist, just a mess with a guitar, turning adult emotions into the raw, desperate sincerity of a child. this isn't music to be listened to, it's a wound to be shared.
