I can hear you sun star, Avalanche. Madison get your *** up stairs. I ground my palms into the pavement more assure less allure. Sick inside from all the catastrophic disgusting beads of demons in my throat. Id put my foot down but it'll bleed threw this side walk. Two horns & a pitch fork, you gruesome step dad. I know that when I get home, I'll be dead as dead could be. So I'll drive to the nearest cliff. I hope your proud of me. I understand why it was important to write with number two pencils all my life. And when you go to meet God it should be when you're looking. Nice. God I look like a ****.  Xanax DIDNT shut me down like it shouldve. I can hear your screaming now, out down that wip I'll wipe away my own tears. I'll cover up the marks on my back and neck. And tell you I'm sick. Sick & dying. This tile gravity formality is freaking beautiful. If not just Angels, lord take me home. This musics so loud, I took apart my neighbor with a ***** driver. I lost the nuts & bolts. I wipe eyelids on the steering wheel. So sick to my stomsch