i always write in circles when im delerius.
and i dont know how to spell delerious. my candle burned into a puddle and ididn't even notice. the puddle is prettier than the candle. less restricted. more real. im getting so irritated by the fact that even our children are man made.
even my fire is synthetic
just as my empty words
flying to meet your ears
both with a ten year warranty
even my laugh belongs on a shelf
my happiness is won in small victories
each time a grind your plastic face
against the cold astroturf
because both are green and plasic.
hello ruby in the dust. has your band begun to rust? old enough now to change your name when somany love you is it the same?
as cement logs combust,
pacemakers are loving small children
ashes to ashes,
but ive got a copyright on dust, bitch
if we could only replicate mold,
we could make a fortune, i say!
your garbage men report to me
and i sell you back your garbage
and you can only cross it off your list when you have bought it twice
thats alright,
im scheduling a merger.
its all the rage, i wonder what the fuck it means
ill schedule a catastrophe and make millions on biggotry.
im stuck in this room. these fucking trinkets of my childhood, like trophes not deserved and shit. my room looks like im 4 that polkadotted wall and mickey thing. so much unnecessary stuff everywhere. it makes me clausterphobic AND GOD I HATE SPELLING im just starting to feel that family is an outdated institution.
and it so fucking cold
everytime i turn my back,
the dots slide off the wall
now theres only polka
and sad little dot carcasses
strewn on the floor
they're a fire hazard
quickly notify the police if any unnattended items are left anywhere
anywhere at all
neglected children may explode at anytime
surrounded by relics of attention
step over my little carcasses on your way out
be careful as the doorknob is making its way to the floor.
even my fire is synthetic
just as my empty words
flying to meet your ears
both with a ten year warranty
even my laugh belongs on a shelf
my happiness is won in small victories
each time a grind your plastic face
against the cold astroturf
because both are green and plasic.
hello ruby in the dust. has your band begun to rust? old enough now to change your name when somany love you is it the same?
as cement logs combust,
pacemakers are loving small children
ashes to ashes,
but ive got a copyright on dust, bitch
if we could only replicate mold,
we could make a fortune, i say!
your garbage men report to me
and i sell you back your garbage
and you can only cross it off your list when you have bought it twice
thats alright,
im scheduling a merger.
its all the rage, i wonder what the fuck it means
ill schedule a catastrophe and make millions on biggotry.
im stuck in this room. these fucking trinkets of my childhood, like trophes not deserved and shit. my room looks like im 4 that polkadotted wall and mickey thing. so much unnecessary stuff everywhere. it makes me clausterphobic AND GOD I HATE SPELLING im just starting to feel that family is an outdated institution.
and it so fucking cold
everytime i turn my back,
the dots slide off the wall
now theres only polka
and sad little dot carcasses
strewn on the floor
they're a fire hazard
quickly notify the police if any unnattended items are left anywhere
anywhere at all
neglected children may explode at anytime
surrounded by relics of attention
step over my little carcasses on your way out
be careful as the doorknob is making its way to the floor.