worried
you called me, i was intimate with myself, yet i picked up
you came to me, you were offering your help, and i said yes
you laid your head down, i worried for your health
and i haven't worried that much before
hockey, faggotry, mental illness
you called me, i was intimate with myself, yet i picked up
you came to me, you were offering your help, and i said yes
you laid your head down, i worried for your health
and i haven't worried that much before
if i steal a wolf away, is it still a crime? to claim him purely for myself to make him purely mine
babe, sweetie, honey i'm absolutely fine. i've seen the way you've glanced at me the way your eyes meet mine
if i steal a wolf away, will i still have time— to be a happy person and live a happy life?
the falcon soars over mountains to tell me of the word that my wolf is sick and dying i scoff and kill the bird.
can corporations feel? can they believe in a god? can they eat? can they speak? what does a corporation look like and why does a corporation have more political power than me, the “citizen”
i can feel i can believe in a god. i can eat. i can speak. the space in which i occupy is my person but why does a person have less rights than a stack of papers than me, the “citizen”
all things loving rot eventually but the wealth, the money, the impact always stays to rule the next generation of those who are living
listen here, my friends am i guilty in my soul? am i guilty to the bone? i feel guilty on my own.
listen here, my friends half a fraction claims our land they do not understand they do not understand
we've poisoned ourselves to think we are only worthy if we are fuckable flawless free
but even retouched i am still so much myself. but i'll fade to ash and dust eventually
i don't like you anymore something happened in my head instead of being with you i'd prefer being dead
am i scared? am i sore? or something in that zone? instead of boning with you i'd rather rot to bones
i don't like you anymore and i realize i'm right instead of lighting fires i'd prefer to see the light
it's an AM in the morning i'm feeling kinda sad my rhymes are always boring stupid dumb and bad
i want to take a break from life do nothing for a year rake the leaves and rake my strife and look like a real queer
don't know where i'm going but i know my future's cold down the river, time is flowing and i'm panning for some gold
there's a gap really far in my consciousness and i'm not sure if my hands are cleaning or making mess
it's an AM in the morning i'm feeling kinda sad my songs are always boring stupid dumb and bad
it's an AM in the morning but please don't worry much hidden under flooring body bags and such
it's an AM in the morning i'm feeling kinda mad the boys i am adoring are crying like they're fags
your tie, your pants, are ridiculous but still somehow attractive
your friends, your girls are promiscuous but still i smile and wave
there's nothing different about this crush: this teasing, insulting, staring. are you attracted? are you disgusted? are you both?
you want a goth girlfriend i almost fit those labels was that a flirt? i don't know.
i'm clueless because i think i'm worthless. i'm worthless because i think i'm ugly. i'm ugly becuase i think i'm clueless
i'll never risk it ever again i'll just suck it up and wait if he's interested he'll give me:
snapchat. digits. whatever.
i left homecoming early all four years here.
who are you and why'd you take my heart so quickly.
you took me fast i got whiplash i'm feeling kinda sickly
when tomorrow rolls around and i see you on the floor you're stumbled, embarrassed
i pray all the prying eyes stop judging, but in the process, i fell, too
baby A, baby, ay i love the concept of you
but your friend broke my best friend's heart i'm scared you'll break mine too.
baby A, maybe, say let's hang out sometime
but your blue eyes are blue as his it's way too out of line.
baby A, eighty days i will turn eighteen
but maturity matures past me
and the solution is what the solution does: it's saline and it cleans.
maybe when i wake up i'll be the guy i want to be:
tall... handsome... athletic... blonde...
but most likely when i wake up in the mirror i will see:
short... ugly... fat... dark...
unacceptably me.
why didn't i die that day? what purpose did it serve? going over eighty, then a sudden swerve got a bad concussion, guess i struck a nerve punched myself in the face, guess i struck a nerd
sverige born today die again tomorrow
rise back up from the ash burn up all my sorrow
blue mystic it's intrinsic that you understand
that flowers do not just appear they grew up from the land