buckets of cement spilled over into loveless heads

like a dream that never comes true, the satisfaction of being proven wrong

 

i glitch like a machine

sometimes i think everyone can see me

when birthdays come and along with those, the presents

things i don't want or need but i take them anyways

Thanks and Oh You Shouldnt Have

staying ever so still and maybe i'm not there

i glitch but im organic

potato slices and split peas

i just dont like it at all

 

log