im a snowman in modern america how am i supposed to survive

Come Back... Be Here x Blakk Tape

I knew who I was this morning, but I've changed a few times since then.

Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.

We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.... 
You must be, 
or you wouldn't be here.

Hoppy got passed like a myth, not a toy,
from one small hand to a brand new joy.
She’s stitched with crumbs from a dream long gone,
still hums when you squeeze her, faint bedtime song.

She smells like a hundred naps and tears,
like stars held tight through the thundering years.
She ain’t plush — she’s proof,
a love note that bounced from the roof.

The rabbit said, “Oi, what’s this pink thing here?”
and Hoppy replied, “I’m a knight, my dear.”
But she had one eye and a sag in her ear,
and the kind of soul you only get through fear.

You held her first, but not last — that’s the rule,
Love don’t stay in its lane or play cool.
It jumps toyboxes, swaps beds mid-night,
and sings to whoever’s got grip enough to fight.

Left her in the sun, came back warm.
She’s got hearts stitched in, weathered the storm.
From one star to another she rolled,
Told stories the silence never told.

There’s jam on her foot and ink on her face,
a plaster round her belly from a made-up chase.
She was doctor, dragon, alien queen —
depending on the sugar level of the scene.

She don’t mind the change — that’s her jam,
held by grief, now sticky with jam.
Two daughters, one thread, all stitched in pink,
entangled by love more than time can think.

She watched Tima through sleepless days,
then turned up later in Alice’s maze.
The rabbit said, “You sure this one’s safe?”
Hoppy winked — “I’ve walked stars, mate.”

It’s strange how socks disappear in the dryer,
but some things stay — like plushie choir.
Like the way a laugh repeats in a giggle,
years apart, but it’s got the same wiggle.

She’s a mess. Let’s be real. One leg’s all fluff,
and the other’s held up with hope and luck.
She squeaks on Tuesdays and farts on demand,
but she’s got the oldest magic in the land.

I once found her floatin’ in the loo,
and cried like the sky when the thunder flew.
She’s battleworn, stitched with kitchen string,
but in her belly lives a wedding ring.

Not mine. Not hers. Just one that stayed
when the stars moved out and memories frayed.
And now she’s tucked in beside the new one,
two hearts asleep with the bedtime moon on.

They don’t know yet, not all the truth —
just that Hoppy smells like both their youth.
Like grief in disguise, like bedtime glue,
like holdin’ on, when there’s nothin’ to do.

Left her in the sun, came back warm.
She’s got hearts stitched in, weathered the storm.
From one star to another she rolled,
Told stories the silence never told.

They play together now, both past and present,
and I sit in the doorway feelin’ adolescent.
Like I’m ten again, but the roles reversed,
watchin’ her hold what once cured my worst.

Sometimes she says, “Hoppy knows secrets,”
and I swear she does — keeps ‘em deep in her fleece bits.
She’s not just fluff, she’s a recordin’ device,
soft surveillance stitched in rice.

I never told her the stories I held,
but she acts ‘em out like a psychic’s spelled.
She cuddles that hippo and says, “She’s mine,”
and I whisper, “She was hers. Now she’s ours. That’s fine.”

You crave chaos. 
You're happiest when the world is in an uproar. 

You thrive on madness. 
Even when your magic is at its best when it's the catalyst to confusion. 
You still can't admit this?

Toybox entanglement

You Are My Only Love

feels - summer sun

Fool’s Gold Written by S’myth

more than i ever should

dancing at 7 A.M.

I was scrolling through
Your page last night
Listening to the
Saddest songs I know

Your prom dress
Fit your brown eyes
And I saw
You didn’t take a boy to go

Your smile
Reflected the spotlights
When I told you
You said “yeah right”

I’m sick of
Seeing you
When I close my eyes

And when you’re gone
I’ll sing along
To all of your
Favorite love songs

And when you’re gone
I’ll start to yawn
And I’ll recall
Our tons of fun

I’m sick of playing these games
It’s like you don’t even know I’m here
I guess that’s your selfish ways
Thats how you function I fear

Every heartfelt text
I sent from my bed
Spent hours waiting
To be left on read
I complimented your lips
You complimented my nothing 
At least I lied
And told you you were funny


when ur gone..

Music for the girls, the gays, the goths, and the gangbangers.

Instagram: wellnesscheque

Come Back... Be Here x Blakk Tape

Wellne$$ Cheque