why. owe. you.

You are a white hot flash of a bullet wound to my chest. The light reflecting off your face, the simple movement of your mouth.

You send a nonstop stream of pure everything.

i actually remember writing this one

It smells like a flower cut from ash and the music is way to loud.

This room is a mess.

The cat has a bad idea.

Kill the night and ill grab the knife

to cut the night

to bathe the room in rays of light.

...

Spit tastes like medicine

what I am is a mirrors grin

Lay it out on a cool tile floor.

don't flatter yourself

She is in love with the idea of being in love with you.

"A nice young man"

Its not you, its not the life you lead. Its the conception of a positive image of her life.

You are not shit, you are John Doe a faceless bandage to sew an age old wound.

Im not the cure

Im a memory

a face in the crowd

I'm a chewing gum plug to a pin hole leak in a shaky wooden dam.

mantra

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

Try to push on through the pain

always keeping pen to page

For GOD and COUNTRY(music)

You fortunate sons
unwanted bastard ones.
With close cut fades you'll take the hit and stash it away.
Fold up the flag and mail it home
a back hand scar
shapeshifting shining star.



















































(if you dont do what we tell you, we will send you to your mothers house in a large black plastic bag.)

tired of the angst yet?

Did you wake up to a doorbell ring?
Do you hear what the black cloud sings?
I can't feel a fucking thing.
I don't feel anything.