there's not a place like this around where i don't want myself around dirt, hair, and soot inside the air purifier so many orange and white bottles on the ground
dollars, masking tape, and cologne Dior, Hermes, and Altoids upon Altoids tins cigarettes and hand-rolled goods, Vice magazines and fashion too
The things I keep in my bed are worse off Than halves of horses heads that Even Hollywood couldn't direct. Until I set fire to the oil paintings and the books
At morning I'll count my rock collection of ****** conquests And bury them like dead birds in shallow graves in the neighbor's yard