(no subject)
I tell you i aint no wicked man
just a quiet kid confused about the stigmata in his hands
I aint expecting no saints to save us but some cmmon courtesy would be nice
maybe a quick note before you aim to take someone elses life
i mean i aint no wicked man
ive had cowardice and conjecture thrust at me before every single step
i aim to topple the steeple with a single misguided breath but i tell you
im just digging to find fogivenness
how far is it down?
is it more with every step and i cant refuse a frown a y'know
ive just got this wry smile creasing over my lips, that sometime the reason im a dickhead is the same reason i cant sleep.
no tower left to cling to
just a mark in the sand, an ever shifting sea of shit.
i aint no wicked man
just a quiet kid confused about the stigmata in his hands
and after last night i cant help but wonder how she spent the last moment of her life
was it spent in blissfull alcoholic ecstasy?
although the amount she imbibed would suggest to just struggled enough to breath
and thats deep, chasm fathom living - when you sink with whatever it is that possessed your mother enough to leave.
and death becomes this fascinating subject because everyone seems so allured to it,
like one great party that everyone seems invited to - the one thing we can fucking count on. and it must be great, it must be sublime - there must be fields of snacks from corner shops and endless mdma and everyone is your best friend. maybe thats it, maybe i'll just keep taking drugs forever - just to push it, just to see where it goes. to the very edge of life, bi'd love to look over the edge and go 'thats where she went' like some kind of morbid curiosity - but instead i'll jist sit and write here at 7:51am after some faceless party where a bunch of people who all have they're.
having the best time i suppose, this mouldy blanket is crowding me and the sun seems like a cold neon lightt thats just illuminating the horror of drug fuelled existence at 8am in the morning. and people pass ythrough your life and they all hjave theyre shit, theyre all carrying weight. they're just making their way through the mire.
just a quiet kid confused about the stigmata in his hands
I aint expecting no saints to save us but some cmmon courtesy would be nice
maybe a quick note before you aim to take someone elses life
i mean i aint no wicked man
ive had cowardice and conjecture thrust at me before every single step
i aim to topple the steeple with a single misguided breath but i tell you
im just digging to find fogivenness
how far is it down?
is it more with every step and i cant refuse a frown a y'know
ive just got this wry smile creasing over my lips, that sometime the reason im a dickhead is the same reason i cant sleep.
no tower left to cling to
just a mark in the sand, an ever shifting sea of shit.
i aint no wicked man
just a quiet kid confused about the stigmata in his hands
and after last night i cant help but wonder how she spent the last moment of her life
was it spent in blissfull alcoholic ecstasy?
although the amount she imbibed would suggest to just struggled enough to breath
and thats deep, chasm fathom living - when you sink with whatever it is that possessed your mother enough to leave.
and death becomes this fascinating subject because everyone seems so allured to it,
like one great party that everyone seems invited to - the one thing we can fucking count on. and it must be great, it must be sublime - there must be fields of snacks from corner shops and endless mdma and everyone is your best friend. maybe thats it, maybe i'll just keep taking drugs forever - just to push it, just to see where it goes. to the very edge of life, bi'd love to look over the edge and go 'thats where she went' like some kind of morbid curiosity - but instead i'll jist sit and write here at 7:51am after some faceless party where a bunch of people who all have they're.
having the best time i suppose, this mouldy blanket is crowding me and the sun seems like a cold neon lightt thats just illuminating the horror of drug fuelled existence at 8am in the morning. and people pass ythrough your life and they all hjave theyre shit, theyre all carrying weight. they're just making their way through the mire.