My soul is the bottle dripping, succumber liquid gaining temper'ture
Can't find no obvious holes nowhere; no breaks, no sights in fissure,
And in its featurelessness and failure, its efficiency raised tenfold before
But I have no use now for broken things rotting and ruining my kitchen table
Should it join the bag, all black and dirty? Tell if you, too, should you find tape
Maybe it's not too late yet, for my sanity's sake, I hope it's not too late
My turf, my rules, my killing
I'm a describable indistinguishable dark soul, only desperate for the more desperate
To dominate and forclose ...Read more
For someone who says he never puts importance to the past,
I sure as hell am spending all my little coins clinging to it.
Rehashes of trauma, merry-go-rounds and go-get-happies, go-get-betters,
And drowning unsuspecting rooms under tub light of my disgraced charm.
That's because I'm a manic pixie dream gay,
–Y'know, like, in the movies,
Maybe we hit up, and we have
A blast of a time and for the times, and you think
That I perhaps realigned or redefined your insights and in-flights, and inside
The low-ceilinged hipster club you hang at, your friends start talking about me
Really coo ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.