the crowd is divisive full of bickering ideologies and overstimulated thoughts of what makes us different we lose sight of the fact

this shirt screams “i’m not still fucked up from last…

watching horror films on vhs with gramma saturday nights

man that lives to yearn sips at the tit of poison no will, but to die

i was born in a basket of apples out of place from the start always berated by questions like “where is your stem?” “why are you so round?”

if you dream me dream me without these horns without scorn back beside the lord

i have been trying to eat the moon the sun is too spicy and i do prefer a late dinner but the people i eat with are insa… and they vomit the stars

we fly down the highway looking for the next bar open on C… we each do a line and head on in flirt with lonely girls and take bumps in the bathroom

short glass of water to wash back the pills in hand last glass of water

tired of her obsessions insatiable outbursts of self dragging her around angst smothered mornings culminating into nightly carnivals…

joyless carnival merry-go-rounds of a troubled mind the amusement of fright and despair

what I love about this country is the jazz and the blues and

when you’re going down the momentum is compelling to the point it almost overwhelms you at the bottom

that is another man’s suicide if i kill myself there will be hookers