Day Six II

I Want to be an American Idiot

My heart skips a beat every time I hear the angry proclamation of his pick against guitar strings. My pulse pounds to the rhythm of the chaos battering from his drums. My brain tries to match fingers to frets as the hum of his bass strings echo both rhythm and sound. Jesus makes me cry. (Tales from another broken home), Jimmy makes me crazy (With an angel’s face and a taste for suicidal), Whatsername makes me jealous (She’s the salt of the earth and she’s dangerous), and I love it. I live it. American Idiot.
I don’t even know how it happened. The radio drew me in. The band got me hooked. The CD made me an addict. I’m addicted to a story anyone can live, but no one wants to admit to living. I’m in love with a boy who every one has been, but no one can be. I’m mourning for a loss that I haven’t experienced, but I feel. American Idiot.

[The beginning of my statement of purpose. Steal it, and die]