day 7 of july

call me again, to see if i'm still up
to tell you the truth, i wasn't drunk enough
the smarting of my biles/bowels/bones are getting me worn out
cover my guts and cut my teeth up

you wanna preserve a fucking master race
and all i wanna do is fucking masturbate
i can't even tell what's more pathetic
what will we say when we get stripped of it all

spit it out
spit it out
spit it out
spit it

spit it ouT

made a pablo skywalkin type beat and then rapped on it

Clarinet

cataplexis

born cold

wrapped around

blowing clouds

flapjacks

the hat man is my bff

god is written all over your walls
but heaven’s closed every time i go
i'm watching the planes soar
tracing it all

i break my wrists knocking at your door
you said “leave baby”, getting all morose
i pack my bags, eat it slow 
a bullfrog leg and a dewclaw

mhm. 
you should call me

born cold

seneca death