the clustered up foggy breath,
my molded basement, my solid
brain teased me.
I ran, I ran further than
I thought I'd ever be found.
The worst part, I turned
myself in. I know it won't be long,
until i fight this feeling once again.
This is a Hell's Winter.
Remember, tip-toe and watch your back.
Speak less, and you'll remember the
name of the game.
In my dream, the Nike Corporation
set flame and fire to the development,
cookie cutter, fucker houses.
I raced away in car full of hopeful and
dirty kids, who knew a better place to
call home.
And even home can feel like a smothering
mess, so what then?
Will there be a day that this paranoia will
resist the simmer setting?
Pick up your swords, don't forget your guns,
and please wake me up.
These dreams scream for a louder life.
school-books, normality, sobriety,
gravel underneath my skin.
And just when you thought
puking until you were thin was enough,
you're kicked in the gut.
Bleach-blonded bombshells, breaking
barriers, crossing borders, barring resistance
to breeze through your body.
When I die, please bury me
with my brighter side.