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paranoia was never clearer
Oh momma please forgive me I’ve strived so hard see? Do you see what I’ve done? And it isn’t done for myself I do it all for me. You wonder why I do it, everybody, they wonder. They think:
What could have triggered this (more)
the nails on my thumbs
now short
got too weak
from water
the heat makes my eyes bug out
my face is so abstract (more)
not a poem
not ever a poet
skin is too tight and every noise
just so loud
the light bends
in silly ways and it makes the colors (more)
my yellow legal note pads
get stained by so much tea
their pale teal ink lines
begin to bleed
the cups start to smell like my breath
like goo from inside my body (more)
so many fucking clocks chilling in this room
three are digital
one on the laptop
one on the shitty cell
one is also a radio
and an alarm (more)
i have a pipe but i don't smoke it
don't have anything smokeable
have some oregano
can't smoke oregano
and i have a lot of books
lots and lots of books (more)

sam still needs to bring the gun over
but sam probably won't
because sam is sam
and sam
doesn't quite function on the same level (more)
one night i was
a clown sitting
under a cold
bleary porch
there were
coons down (more)
i pop a bubble
a blue tarantula falls out
i only remember to find this out of the ordinary
after it scuttles over the floorboards
i pop a bubble
a jar of cinnamon falls out (more)
tell me about
these friends of yours
the one who calls herself
La Pecheuse
the one who sells herself
on aurora ave. (more)
pictures of bridges are never enough
when the reall thing is out there
but there is no getting out
of tiny towns where
we all breathe
the same (more)
i'd sing you a song
if i knew a tune
and i'd kiss you goodnight
in a way that says
that you'll die soon
and i don't do goodnights (more)
i always found
that self loathing brings about the greatest of artistic inspiration
but at the end of the day
everything is just as hollow because being an avoidant piece of shit won't solve a thing
so i'll dress up
and be a martyr instead (okay mommy?)
he wears two hundred dollar slacks but no shoes or socks
we can thank john mayer for that
she stands by him like they are bound together by snail slime but she at least wears shoes
and i really wouldn't mind him being barefoot (more)
in come the ideas by a knitting of comets
sometimes red
sometimes gray
sometimes an ugly mixed color that doesn't have the decency to be brown
into the room where the floorboards creak (more)