produced by me (dawsin)
written by me (dawsin)
lyrics:

my patience runs thin
my doubts start to creep in
this town feels cold
like it wants my soul
and my friends have split
i barely give a shit
i was always on my own
not one sound from the phone

i feel getting closer
i can feel it deep inside my bones
i can, i can feel it
feel it
i can, i can
whenever you're not around
i talk to myself like a ghost
i can, i can feel it
feel it
i can, i can

i can, i can feel it
feel it
i can, i can

i can, i can feel it
feel it
i can, i can

and i
hand me a pair of scissors
so i can cut my heart out
my heart out
beggin to die
cut me open
just to prove
not the monster you once knew
and the lies
peeled my skin
waste my youth
frizzy hair
and a rotten tooth

by now there's moss on the wall
powerlines fell down, no calls
it smells like mildew
blood on the carpet, it came from you

oh the guilt towers so tall
wishing my brain will just thaw
oh I'm afraid of you
of what you have the power to do

menacingly walking out the fog
she says to herself "like wtf"
oh ill happily die on this hill
till my blood grows cold from the chill
in my two hands, equipped with a club
go to her safe place, at the pub
gun got a nose and its a snub
you gave me a look like you wanna run

moss

NEW MESSAGE! 
     𓂋 
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

//i apologize to all the prods. I used for nonprofit.//


8/28/25
As I read I drew many parallels, within me 
2nd Peter 1 16 
The flesh is evil 
When your mind is in tandem with God 
It is caged by a necessity of survival and consumption, the demand of the devil  
Tarnishing the intellect 
Now, is the unconscious life, orderly and functioning 
And the human body, unrestrained to chase 
In most cases 
The heart laid bare 
Dreams, for example 
As real as my supplication for rest is fulfilled 
The composition of survival 
Renders my thoughts as dung 
That attracts death. Flies. 
Artifacts of secrets, 
Or public ritual upon the tongue.  
I have faith in all that God provides me 
In non intellectual life 
But my mind 
As surely as it is internal 
Thinks internally 
With no capability to speak on its own, 
God reigns there 
In the secret place 
Where the door is shut 
And abiding 
But the with flesh, it constantly supplicates itself in slumber 
In slumber, as a whole thereof,  
God ordains an image not directly of him, but of humanity, in my radius, which is recycled by this premise:
In intellectual life 
A dream, a thought 
It is always evil. 
Your heart, it beats, and there is verses of it amok. 
And so, good, always and is only found in denial  
Dependent on the mind
For the denial of the heart would be to die 
But the denial of the mind is to live 
I’m well familiar in forbidden things 
But I have grown slowly to know it is forbidden 
I have grown slowly to know that what is forbidden in tongue 
Is holy in God 
This frustrates the authority of your carnal body 
And in my case, the devil will outright speak disgust 
But God will even affirm 
That I am “indeed evil” 
I am the most evil, the worst, for I have a human body 
Which is the only form of life affected by the fall. 
But in acknowledgement of flesh, the humility of clarity 
Good is easy to starve for. 
The only Good 
Is knowing the body is vile. 
And that the mind had an initial, first intention, lost to this generation, and thousands previous. 
This is why Jesus, God in the 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘩, 
𝘚𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦; 
𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.
𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸, 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘩, 
𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘎𝘰𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 
𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.

This is the true fruit 
Not the dreams that tell me the instances of people’s walks, and the things they believe that they want to hear 
That is a ritual 
Internalized, it is holy. 
For this is what I learned from those utterances compiled with scripture.
—-
A spiritual origin; pleasure divine only to that above 
Is what turns on the reality in the world 
Wanting to bestow you the truth 
Using Mother Earth 
The offspring of her nurturing 
Seeing things in paradigm or in alignment with the physical senses 
Or at least what I would call them 
Because some people don’t even have physical senses 
These people are called “senseless” 
I know how to be senseless 
And these people would then be regarded as 
“Sensible” 
That is the crux of the riches of divine pleasure 
The reality you see is what kills you 
For it goes straight into you 
And nothing with it is attained without the will of the Father. 
There is a crow right next to me on my right 
Walking up to me and propping itself upon the bench 
(3 times, 4 times, and so on.) 
A Spiritual Origin: The truth divine only to that above 
Is what tells you the sheer disarray and deceptive nature of pleasure 
A misfortune told plainly to open the eyes 
Of the blind 
These ones of mine who believe they fully see 
From yet divine pleasure alone 
There is never meaning 
But surely 
God is that human 
Things ought never to be lukewarm 
You grow from one
Then the other 
There is nothing in the middle of the garden 
Worth your time. 
The rivers of life burst through 
As the tree truly belongs 
On BOTH sides.
—-
1:41 
The light of a sun ; The gust of dirt uprising

trying to please you

executioner

https://guns.lol/wyfy