Put all your ideas in a trash bag
burn it
Discern the meaning by the
plastic smoke
Broke, fundamentally broken
somewhere inside
Only garbage floats up to the surface
of my soul
I don't feel whole anymore, cookie cutter flesh wound
Trapped in the monsoons of psychoactive hysteria
Scary fun, the type where you wipe out brain cells
Your goodness rebels against the current you
Chopped and ******* feel bulletproof in cotton teeshirts
Ketchup squirts out on some fries
The current world relies on machines of loving grace
Finding my place, tattooed lost space case singing sad songs
My heart longs to simply be touched
it sends shockwaves