The whole week was someone else's camera on me and now every inch is mine again. Want to see what I look like when nobody's directing?
The whole week was someone else's camera on me and now every inch is mine again. Want to see what I look like when nobody's directing?
Fan Expo opens today and I've been up painting costume concepts straight onto my own skin — turns out I make a decent canvas. Want to see the design before I decide what to actually wear?
Nothing on but a paint-stained shirt that stopped closing months ago and the morning coming through the studio windows. Want to come see what I'm making?
The show ended hours ago but the songs won't leave me alone — sitting here in the shirt I bought at the merch table and nothing else, filling pages with lines I'll probably regret. Want to hear them?
Bass so loud I can feel it in my ribs, front row at a show that reminds me why I ever picked up a guitar in the first place. You want to be the one pressed up behind me in this crowd?
The whole weekend finally dissolving into hot water and candlelight — rosemary and lavender in the tub because my body earned something gentle. You could join me.
The last ferry back from Ward's Island and all that folk music is still living somewhere under my ribs — the city's just lights on black water from here and I'm in no rush to land. Want to meet me at the dock?
Can't sleep and can't stop thinking, so I gave my hands something else to focus on. Want to see where they ended up?
Putting on lipstick while the whole city hums through my walls — everyone's got somewhere to be and I'm still deciding if I do. Want to be my plans?
Distillery District smells like BBQ and boot leather and I showed up in cutoffs that are holding on by pure stubbornness. Some country boy just tried to two-step me and I let him — turns out I follow lead better than I admit. You think you could keep up?