fuck

whats a boy to do

except sit around

get higher than the moon.

no plans

just some flan & a cacoon

empty rooms-broken ceiling fans

haunts of a past binge of some fall afternoons.

regale me of your sins

tell me what makes you brake

what helps you bend

sifting through rubble in the space time continuum

I was about 12 when I learned what being a shit head is

wanted to steal some pokemon cards so I did what it does

no one ever found out so I perfected my craft into what Ive become

mostly lines...sometimes clones...mostly new ones...better ones / same concept tho.

duck

whos off that boy tho

rig around

burn brighter than the sun.

Ive lost so many friends & brothers...but thats another note

I just decided to write till I turn blue

even if its tomorrow afternoon

I havent started thinking like a loser.

all this work and yet still we'll look back like nobody knew

because they didnt...because their scope was limited to grooves

sure persistance makes rivers

but alchemy & magic potions make oceans and nebulas bloom