my mind is a bubble and i dont mind if it rumbles.
but often a sound so suttle will make it fall and crumble.
so i cuddle with my pillow every night and every week.
and sip a cup full of clarity and enjoy to watch what i drink.
and i think how life in itself is amazingly terrible and wrong.
i think about the wind blowing through my hands and consider jobs.
working on songs about lifes wrongs until nothings left i turn right.
stab the fork in the road in my neck to compensate for lack of knife.
and in my own sight. i realize i have a lack of light and a lack of night.

at the same time.

nothing is empty but what is full is few my self comes into view.
i think of you whoever you are my obstacle in getting through.
bloods sing blues as my life of everlasting depression gets plastered.
a pessimist? half full. no my glass seems to be already shattered.
as if it mattered as a piece the glasses pieces up against my wrist.
quick abrasions of my mind subdue my temptations to slit.
a fall into the thick of it and meet a sinking monster with hands.
and i fall into it and die. as if pussy was quick sand.


*im still waiting for my rib!*

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