I’m at war with the art form, conflict of the purpose and the self, I want to rip the most honest parts of myself out and crucify them on this stage, I want a spectacle so pure it gives you all nosebleeds, I want to make myself understood,
What happens if I can’t explain my position? How can I justify myself to you?
How can I explain to you what this feels like?
Feels like the highway lines I used to romanticize grew teeth, started dragging on like decades across wrists made ****** at the tip of a pen,
Feels like the distance crawled into my head, crackling like exhausted lightning begging to be recognized,
Feels like I could tear my rib cage open and light a cigarette off this ****** heart, yeah, desperate times & all,
I got a crime scene inside this body tonight, I’m hanging around waiting to get violated, subjugated, overcome with superior violence,
Strip me naked and love me like a firing squad, yeah I guess we all wanna end like this,
I guess we all desire power, or to be crushed by something powerful,
That’s why we give birth to God every night,
Drink deep of the waters of life, and live the **** thing,
Right? I should know this by now,
But here I am, godless and vicious,
Waiting on an apocalypse that shares my name, and praying like hell,
For the soul of the world to come, after all of this