I wrote this on the morning of September 29th.

Junk fucked grunge and grime and became punk in time followed by this dope laced rhyme is blue lips and rolled back eyes with a rope tied tight you might find the right side of life when every body is done crying at your funeral they go back home and do the same thing as you but they don’t understand the point of view you had and why you choose to tie ropes to rocks and throw those hopes over the beam tied real tight so you could kick the chair from under your feet in the same place under that bridge you used to sit and think now that you’re gone they really do carry on the daily lives of ghosts with no hope to show them selves to anybody they’re just like you forgotten and transparent rotting the grand carriage to the afterlife hanging from the rafters like the end couldn’t come faster and after you died they buried the idea of a life that choked so slow and decided to let go.