i loooove this and you and the little mind guy behind your eyes moldy guy

Cackle

ode to tea

You calm the bees on my tongue (first draft)

on my way to verona
i was thinking of all the
times that i left too soon

the train whistled loudly
and i heard the sound gladly
for the noice would stay far behind

before i left
i got us lost
maybe to spend
more time aloft

before i left
i wanted you to
ask me about
my sadness

but you didnt ask
and i didnt tell you
so i jumped on a plane
with words on my mouth

on my way to milano
en medio del verano
 I was daydreaming in the heat

my seat was a time machine
allowing me to repeat
times were i felt the thrill

before i left
we hid on the forest
Whispering so honest
and truthful

and once i left
fled like a coward
filled with regret
and ever too soon

but leave i did do
and stopped me you didn’t
so now im on a train
to zurich

on my way

popcorn

carpet

ahora no

i spent so much time trying to know myself that i got bored of what i found
so when you try to know my self i'll get just as bored of what you find
and then i get bored of you too 'cause you're into all these boring things
and then i'm thinking how the hell could that be true 'cause who the fuck would be into such boring things
so in the end what it must be all about is that you see me for something which i'm not
and if you only looked a little closer you'd see all the things you maybe even purposely forgot to look a little closer at 
or subconsciously even, how about that
but honestly in subconscisity we show ourselves who we really truly are
and if you're subconsciously avoiding my subconscious that's all the proof i need to say with relative confidence that the real me, the me you're forgetting to see, must be even worse than how i imagined it to be

and somehow you must've gotten a whiff of that moldy smell
coming from deep within a scent from some chamber of secrets overflowing with moldy rat bones that's me
that's my boring-ass house from where my mind lives
and the spot from which i look out through these window eyes
the eyes you sometimes call pretty 
although if you knew how he sees the world, this little mind guy behind my eyes
the little guy that's the flavour of how it feels to be me
if you saw that i bet you'd never again say that my eyes are pretty
how does it feel to be me when there's no-one else around?
that's a question you'll never ask me because your subconscious steers you away, makes sure you don't deviate too far from the 
safe distance from which my eyes look pretty

and all the other things you like about me ultimately are just gadgets that adorn the little mind guy or the guy who is the real me
fuck subconscisity it's only this guy that matters and she can be such an empty guy to be sometimes
fuck she's empty she's blank and sometimes judgemental always judgemental
she will sit on her bed as the hours go by and by and paralyse her body
and she goes outside and she throws out the trash and she's empty she's empty she's empty she's empty 
and nothing has a point nothing has a meaning and she just has to 
surround herself with things that make noise things that make light things that provide distraction 'cause otherwise there's nothing 
there's nothing there's nothing and her bed is so cold and her room is so cold and there's mold on the wall there's mold on the wall
there's so much fucking mold on the wall

i am not that old
and still i reek of mold
fraying at the edges dead leaves rotting in the corner maggots crawling in my bones

moldy

catsnout

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