i don't right
i don't fight

don't figure out
don't flail fingers
up in arms against nothing
don't notice
spinning
tumble speed


i ain't right
ain't fighting

no merge
no mirth

no big


ill fated fingers feathered and fallen

ill fated hands therefore forgotten

super posi- forest dwelling fae
fae-ke or fuck me please its all the same

please mister missus
tell me bout yer organs
are they spinning in this new found summer heat
or are they forming
balanced one or the other

standing one foot
on a ball

and i talk a lot of garbage
can't drink anymore
or smoke a spliff
without tearing my face off
mask replaces
real skin

born again teen teeth again skin

but they said i looked older

as if it werent or were true
that a lost lad a wanderin was me er you

its okay baby
youre so cute
its okay
tiny lil massacre inside you