Back when I was eight, every friday we would have

our own little holidays.

Filled with pizza, too much soda and locally rented games.

Even still, as it was
there still was an occasion

Sometimes, mostly on weeks when
my dad had ideas that would engage us to
toss away our pizza,
and all our nintendo games

We would get chinese food.

And that was all the same to us
as having a vacation
We didn't have brains to think
That it's ONLY chinese food.

That's not how we would think
Me and my little, and my older brother would
freak out at 6 at night
When the mom and dad came home from errands
with boxes written in a language we couldn't write.

All we were was indians.
All I knew was stew
We weren't dirt poor but even still
Egg drop soup was something new.

Holy hell, i loved chow mein
I smothered my riced with hot mustard
Even though I was only nine, i knew was divinity was.
It was eggrolls, fortunes cookies, and my newfound MSG buzz.

Wrinkled in the pages of my book
was a wrap of ancestor skin.

Wrapped in rice paper
was a roll of animal sin.

\Stew and steams
Sewn in cages
Soaked in milk
and blessed with sages

was silk and heart weaved in a page

on a paper book so thin.
so thin
like looking in a leaf who had been
out on a rock for ages

only veins left with out skins
it's what we printed on our pages.

Well you never bought a pass,
and we never asked permissions
But tonight we've permitted ourselves to indulge in our mission.

Out of all our stories, we had found a few
that dig into your psyche, and set your soul astew.

So tonight, and tonight only, don't go to bed really late.
Because we perform an hour show, but it'll last all life if you let it.

Only three acts, just like you learned. but we act like it's forever.

Please eat before, so you're instore, for our hedonistic endeavour.

Scissors used to be a tool I'd ask my mom for
So I could clip comics from the paper

Sundays were colorful, and full of ads
and deals, and payments for the lives that we had.


Older.
Older and older I learned
that's lives aren't made out of food and water.
But paper and paper ideals.

I spilled on the floor
my heart bleeds on papers

and i bleed on it more and god how I hate her.

Lifted in the bed i bought
I cold sweated out all my ******* thoughts.

I riffed with my buddy
in a car,
why we made a blood moon from a start

I blew a bowl on a moonlit lake
while we munched on cornnuts and catfish steak

I jumped on hills in his corolla
the morning before the night it was stolen

But it came back,
and so did he

and the next night we kept out lines out
for the next catfish in the sea

I felt like making files
I feel like I can finally classify my life

I'll rolodex my women
and archive all my strife

I'll log away my first fire
and try to learn from it.

Use my important papers to build my pyre
and use my rage to get it lit.

I haven't eaten lately.
I've forgotten how to eat.
I'm a chef,
I make me unctuous meals.
Then I leave them in the street.

I'll chew my food,
then spit it out.

I don't deserve to be.
I'm made out of starvation and self hate.
But I should eat more calories.

Instead I starve,
Instead I wait.

Hunger is a feeling
that I can really feel
Which is why I'm scared
To stop the movie reel.
I have my momentum.
I get force fed so I won't die.
But what I really what is lunch.
With my friends...
I want to try...