he fills a, long thread of thoughts in the note pad my bad, reminiciscing on what he said obsessing over what he said they mad, they made me make a neat death bed made of thorns, and lie in it figuratively speaking, literally this weekend been dreaming, nightmares about loud speakers or quiet demons he doesnt speak it he doesnt speak the language of the awaken, hes still sleeping awake but hes still sleeping long ago the trees spoke to me they said, "you still breathing?" questions like that make me sick to my stomach but i aint running from it ill, vomit if i need to i aint scared of it, i am drippy recluse dreamer exclusively on vhs and dvd readers and in alleys and parking lots near ikea sending my cv to the nearest street cleaners he feels a, light breeze but for some reason it makes him, weak to his knees he used to sleep with the lights on but lately lights make him lose vision im a, recluse, a, child prodigy in making bad decisions its a close call but still no dice and no fishes left in the ocean to make chips with *are you listening? questions like that make me sick to my stomach but its okay, im not here for reasoning that options long gone delayed the poetry for an intermission *[do you know what it feels like to not know what it feels like?] funny that my most masterful lyrics come from a place of deep pain *are you still listening? questions like that make make me sick to my stomach remembering i will never get back to my first days my first way of escape was thick bass im the type of person to sing my own swang song on the first date thats a sick tape they ask me *howd you come up with that in the first place? questions like that make me sick to my stomach questions like that make my, heart ache riddle me this, howd you come up with your worst mis-take? is it even worth it to partake *in life? questions like that make sick to my stomach stick to the plan three pages worth of mind fuzz and i still hope no one gives a damn *or do i? questions like that make me sick to my stomach but i aint running from it ill, vomit in a minute and im still hella scared of it

lately, i been feeling hazy kicking it with daisies hanging for the moment sipping on some bailey's stately, lanes becoming mazes i cant even stand this shortly ima leave it reasons are a plenty namely, im just stuck up on the fuckup that has made me i hate me and if im not making music then fuck is it that makes me but fuck it ima stay with it lay in it flourish in the grave, kiddie, growing money and cassete tapes 808s and headaches late flicks drippy and the lost kid nah fuck it, drippy IS the lost kid drippy is the worst kid drippy doesnt know shit drippy still got hard beats drippy still got no hits and drippy still gives no shit lanes, lanes eyes on me, eyes on me