A sick holiness painted all around the streets. This overwhelming failure peeling through speaks volumes. Monoliths close in on deep greens and milked
Chasing tranquility through a maze of secret numbers and backdoors. Back burners hum in the background. A mix of illicit and innocent. The mean reds
Personal exile is a personal utopia. Anonymity is bliss. A faceless nirvana amidst this horde of neon-huffing human refuse. Strung out on fluorescence
Sinking into a routine heaven and scorching out the wires that have wound us up for years. Scraping the sin away from the windows and pushing the guilt
Sweating out the hours meticulously collected, pinpointed and highlighted. Scratching off events and fifth lines for a better sense of purpose. Tallying
Biting through tongues and foaming at the mouths. Splicing together what will not pan out. Wax works for bitter pills, yet vials and spoons seem better
Arches and walkways with open mouths and rotting teeth. Open your arms to welcome me into your routines and driving paces. Give me somewhere to shut
Lines stretched out to storm and torch.
What is this new madness? On it comes. Panic, whose blood runs cold. Fear not this raging madman, evil incarnate. First on one side then the other. I
Undone and ever-changing, sprawling out and reaching forward. Stretched out to the bay and back over again, over and over again. Past sad fences and
Harmony in slipping out of the existence of me. Rotting into bliss again and crawling inside to sleep them all off. White lights and rested heads dropping
I got your letter and I couldn't disagree more. You're not reborn, you're regressed. Your god is a stepping stone to self-rghteousness, not an understanding
Who puts a halo on a human head? Not I. Who's afraid to ask? What you think is god really hates you and still you grovel. Did you speak to him? Your weakened
Align your head with loaded gun. Yes, I'm your enemy. Gasp. You will do it again, and you did. Rejection washes like the sweetest wave. Forgiveness is
Direction with no sense. Wandering aimlessly and throwing sidelong glances down unlit alleyways. Wondering if film is really picking up time stopping
If I'd smoke crack on earth, heaven would surely be a disappointment, and hell is other people. I hope neither exists. I'd settle for sleep.
You say I'm scared, maybe you're right. But I'm not scared of you. Just whisper your tiniest little secrets to me. And I'll tell you nothing but lies.
Say the things you feel the least, feel the thing that hurts the most. It's not the best of days, it's not even a good day. This time is thicker than
