-Great talk the batters in the box
ask him bout Basquiat
for you I'd sell my socks
my soul my whole well being
my cheat code my credo
my needless words and bells and curves
let's sweat these stitches out
visions tampers with my dreams
lean in seem thin and pewter
lids will part lips will pout
let's make sad sounds like we hear around
let's speak our names and forget the nouns
let's have a toast for those still around
smoke in the air like my daddy's soul
I only write these words that I think I know
and when I put the pieces in a fold out letter
but the coffins there and I should be better
but the feelings always and the feelings never
and i'm not surprised but I'm not that clever
to be honest I would never see a ghost
and sometimes that hurts
but that's the way it goes
only wear 3 shirts
that's the way it goes
I only wear my wallet in the back pocket of my slacks
and when I'm talking slacks I'm probly meaning jeans
I seem to get caught up on unimportant things

Mind won't stay still for 5 minutes
won't let me finish
people always say things better than I do
have to learn cope it's my sense of survival
throat feels scratchy heads full of mirrors
have to play pretend about a caring appearance
but I feel that my thoughts are very clear and apparent
and the ones who were close are the ones disappearing
not by their hand
mines full of scarves
a rabbit once lived in my arms
now it sings sad songs in a bar
basic til the day that I choose to live
aint there something I was sposed to write
I know I owe a few tracks to some folks
who probly think I died
you brought me back to life
but on the other side
I'm only half alive
and then the other half of me
probably needs or deserves you
my mind is not all dark
it just needs a curfew
greeting cards are fine but I'm needing to work through
day to day breakfast and lunch in my purview
off white perception and color of daylight
All of it orange in its aura by night time
Creeping upon me these splinters in my mind
Need to be pulled from their havens in sight lines
I felt some lasting hope dissolve into a bag of bones
faster than fate foretold
am I lazier than I know
The prickling skin I hold is sweating stitches in the cold
it's faded in ways unknown
amazingly It's my own