how do i talk about life when it just feels like an impression of vices trying to turn corners

on the cusp of closed borders but we sing for class order i just

felt enough of the pain that i gave into the notion i might accept what it brings

found privilege in oblivion i'm not listening man

i'm not brutal just subscribed to hearing truth over spam

sip some rose water, watch the skyline coming in

and inhaling through the orifice that passed through my hand

what did it mean if she looked longer than what's considered a glance?

what does it mean if i took longer than what's considered my chance?

i'm a waiter, not the service though, just patient im saying

think i smoked on something laced with tinted loved i'm tryna give a fuck

tell me what you're giving up?

tell me what you're inspired by

is it how life flys by?

maybe we could work out the wood work

getting used years hurt

told my grandmother we're doing great

it made my chest hurt

does that mean something shrink?

i'm so cold in my mink, feeling locked in my freedom, and uneasy in comfort

i write the stories unsung from the words that can't leave my tongue

sharper than the pain i feel when pushing air through my lungs

let's be specific my love

or what?

there's a ransom set, pick up for the message next

date, kiss, then bassinets