I make razor wielding Emos look cheerful, I see forests, not the itty bitty trees.
Of all the damned frustrations within my life, the after-here is looking like a breeze.
I’d like to go away a bit, live in peace, and dwell. And force myself over myself, and leave this living hell.
Of future thoughts and times to come projections have been weak
And so I write & rhyme and While, when-ere I try to speak