if i wrote a music album, it would flop

if i wrote a music album, it would flop. partly because I have no sense of production but mostly because missing you is my strange addiction. If each chorus is a repetition of “i miss you”, who would give a listen? in some tracks, there is the sound of the floorboard crack recorded when you escaped dream palace. some usually start with no music, only words that are incoherent. your absence makes no sense. neither does reminiscence. by verse one, i’m already on my knees, begging you to come back to me. please. take the door you took to left and coke right back in. i’m sitting here, arms open. in every track, i am on the same tune. i miss my muse. the chorus has backing vocals from my last voice call to you and i say “please i miss you more every day.” i repeated it so many times, i think i accidentally manifested it. verse two is a flashback of how i thought i was not enough for you. if free will was once a perk of the brain, i think the heart confiscated it. every song is this same, in every poem i mourn. my lungs are always on fire. i am open to constructive criticism. you can call it a satire. the outro is just the temporary end as another track starts with the same dull beginning. i beg you to love me so many times, it’s sickening.