fifteen seconds.

ersatz something else of nothing less with tequila and gin.
i sold my soul to the devil but he failed to read the finer print.

dislocate.

sick and tired of wanting to be one of those wunderkind kids with some underlined luck, with their steadfast mantras of everyday a little prayer everyday a little fuck. been drawn; with coal, or like mayflies to a sweeter summer to this ideology. preaching an anthem stilled out with the dots and dashes of silence. i'm a one wit blunder. my love still goes out to the kids with their heads in the clouds but with their hearts in the right place. it's so easy to forget we're all held fast by the frailest strings spun by relative perception alone.

i hope you never.