honeymoon vinegar son. 22 witnessing love disintegrate into pictures of stuff interesting moments of visceral passion depicted in millimeters of yesteryear vintage threads flare in the blistering sun i wrote my thesis in blood standing O at cannes domestic canned laughter just a reason to get in a tux and leave in a limo then remain in limbo insignificant like bug brains on the window ask the driver for a pharmacist wrote a new script said if he can get it made i’d get a part in it gave him my agent’s assistant’s email. third building on the left, please all i wanted was some recognition not like this this SUCKS nowadays i take a compliment like a bad joke that i wrote my accomplishments ripened way quicker than expected now they’re sitting on my counter all black and blue, fruits of my labor in the trash that contusion on my gratitude came from you motherefucking cynical elitists in the middle of a theater throwing drinks at the screen like: "this should be deleted!" never picked the camera up never put the pen down i’d rather die van gogh not one guy with shit crown who did that one thing one time this ends now. our protagonist thought it poetic to pen his suicide note in the form of a well crafted journalistic criticism and lay it atop his stack of newspaper clippings of critiques of his modern adaptation of “The Invisible Man” that *********** was sure a strange fella i think he was a writer. i used to hear him scream at thin air like his wife his pessimism drove her away like nightrider i kinda saw it comin idle hands turned him lipstick face bumpin tiny tim refer to genius for the reference this what happens when your idol hands you a whiskey stained cocktail napkin with a message of encouragement scribbled on it. to his life: ******* was as delusional as he was ambitious he never quite found his audience a posthumous cult like following was his vision. an obvious disciple of vincent. i’d love to break it to him if i could cliche, non effective pseudo ground breaker cheap skate only count on you to count paper these days i don’t follow you to find greatness each day a thousand yous can make you outdated he freeze framed a moment of eminence his dismay a brief case, quarter of whatever she say, a jot, last shot, rotten review later and he was dead.

who woulda thought i’m used to loss so when the rooster call proceeded showers of irises i was truly awed offa jawin bout compulsions & accoutrement happy to be audited with more than zeros and minuses to report tight rope walkin between cool and calm and too involved with who of y’all saw, and who wrote it off simultaneously juggling my love for you and art & averting a past version of myself attempting to shoot me off the tight rope dancin' clown barkin' carnie burden sideshow bob i blew opportunities like transmissions when I knew i could be posin' a threat to this damn business yeah right, it’s funny how how the goals switch maybe not switch but adjust as you decode myth indie rap renaissance 2012 ant’s basement chase a buzz more ways than one like a gold snitch tyler ate a roach, king steelo wore a panda mask, i’m the same age as joey bad could you imagine that? (Why not me?) delusions of grandeur sleepin' on justin’s couch got a lil too used to my timbre and he then rushed me out cold day in July holey vans stickin' out the window of my '93 in the heat i was out splitting pennies half cents cranberries raspberries on my knees i was tryna trace the source of the leak almost scared straight like a quarter to 3 with no iota of a clue of what’s important to me. swallow pride where i’m at? fear and loathing in ma’s basement was peerin' back at a mirror image of non stable another brick in a pyramid made of art failure 10,000 hours was masquerading as lost stasis cross my t’s and dry my eyes. i think that funny people are the saddest. 'cause i don’t wanna see you cry. i just wanna see you laugh. what i tell myself i wrote that line when i was in hell myself i was tryna compel myself to propel myself to the surface when i felt the only options were leave earth, or be perfect, be worthless, or sell myself. black and white like a 2012 hood by air t-shirt i couldn’t get my hands on but it it would stupid on me anyway hated my body and the drape of any garment. never be beautiful enough to ever be important deifying stick figures on the wall of this cave self hatred and doubt latched a ball and a chain spendin' all my time neglectin' all but bars to name. with a speck of recognition it would all go away. framing arduous pain parables targeting fame as if i made it to the root, all my art would be fake. as if i’d lose some kinda edge and couldn’t sharpen the blade. so I sharpened and I cut 'til I was raw as fillet counting my days in a constant malaise my soundclouds are grey 1 like and a comment that’s fake. mass consumption was my college i was studying greats was impressed and resentful was in awe and ashamed everybody graduating i was loading boxes and crates, hangin' on by a thread and couldn’t hold a dollar to save i was showing brett my songs tav and daryl the same, tellin' me i should be on and I thought they were playin' wasn’t concerned with being a good person. rather be regarded as a good wordsmith. i don’t get it. i don't get it. you could love me for me but I need to know i’m not wasting my time. you could love me for me, but what about this sentence structure? but still i’d write all the same. but still i write all the same but still i write all the same but still i write. i told myself no. i told myself no, not you i told myself no. my understanding of love is, skewed local liquor anesthetic until a low balance warning me and this last lonely toxin that probably won’t last until the morning in my car still.

KILLVONGARD: not for what i really am just for an idea not for every part of me only the revered. i want all the golden statues thinkin back to you were in the bathroom i was bedridden smitten not new to you but i got your attention method acting profession performer hat hung on these boisterous writtens affection a side effect of stringing words needlepointed image of a neo expressionist gifted what he lack in aesthetics he make up in vision, brilliance, dimensions, shivers you at the door consumed me i remember your eyes and your lips thighs and your hips i was a friend. there’s no turning back tonight is the end or a win probly for you on a whim in my eyes it’s all or nothing never be here again calling bluffs is my calling card my calm is stuntin and my overcompensation is flawless this what it’s like to be wanted you know what it’s like to be hunted you wonder what it’s like to be loved for way more while i strive to be worshipped revenge plots play over and over i told you what you want, i told myself it was solemn unbuttoning blouses only in the movies never been touched keep my shirt on below the belt under covers while i'm tracing the four marks lining your forearms in a moment that’ll eventually haunt me i can’t believe that you want me you can’t believe that it’s deeper me and my crew present demeanor of misogynistic teenage misfits but I show you soft spots even the spots that’s not supposed to be soft face all hot caught up in an off color comment in the middle of reveal ego all balled up you got up and i laid, with my face to ceiling falling action of escapade crescent lay in the frame above the bed like a claude lorrain, jean mille brain filling in the blanks of a nonverbal awkward exchange. all i can hear is your pants now, shaking out the wrinkles, a sigh then your zipper, shaky breath bleeds into a giggle, the hum of disassociation and then your friend in the kitchen. the9ardenstate: I guess I'm just addicted to attention First I check my DMs and then I peep my mentions I was acting out in class gave my ass detention Flirting with the shorties talking shit sippin 40s We should put it on film Flow is so fire they could put it in a kiln Story written based on true events that are real And my love to be loved is like another blue pill It's not enough to say that I did it Like short term memory I thrive off recognition Got a sore thumb from texting all these bitches Knew I had a problem when I fucked her in the kitchen right in front of the window we was in the line of vision of my neighbor she didn't even care Dropped my fuckin sandwich put her leg up in the air Like how did we get in this position? I admit it, I admit it Distorting all the pictures trynna read the top line When I get a new prescription in my eyes your so fine but it's not enough Music nerd and a movie buff Gone with the wind like an empty double cup Chained to your love maybe that's why they call it cuffed I'm tied to the love of the game But you could go broke trynna pay the price of fame Like a tag on a beat I just wanna hear my name But I really need a crowd Whispering my lyrics while she blowing on that loud Man we should play this shit live Haven't tweeted in a while you know I'm alive Body is a stage and I'm finna take a dive But who am I behind closed doors? I'd rather feel ashamed than to ever be ignored I don't do it for the masses do it for my core But honestly I'm lying I don't mean to sound conceited Life is a game and I'm praying that I beat it Want the next level but the truth is that I cheated I got the codes online Doing promos for my show online Dropping demos of my flows online Posting thirst traps for my hoes online

ironically a biter's a albatross to a tiger shark alcatraz azkaban structure like the title card of birdman halloween taliban what a time to be around i’m the plug you the outlet that explain the cheaper sound liars often bargain buy in bulk to get it sooner i need that ultra rare mint 10 grade like you almost a junior end game: i’m thanos making snap music put you and your friends in a circle then I, lean wit it rock with it when i wanna hurt you only look like a curtsy i'm shitting on you your knee joint served as a b point to a right angle that was intentional written on you was shame and despair the stare was flipping through pages of a [fumbled words] rubber sheets double d ugly luckily not my cup of tea not so subtly skipping i double dutch a discography not so [fumbled words]

i’m no hobbyist a specialist who won a staring contest with the precipice calmly lit path for the pessimist in oddly written, polyrhythmic sentences and was never for one second out my writ. could never heavyweight bout my wit my pouch of quips is bottomless to think I thought this up mid episode pacing about my kitchen just grabbed a ginger beer from out my fridge countless doubts i bitch slapped in the thousands rich with whatever the opposite of whatever you thought was it paws get licked my claws still in the dead, the quick i termination clause your shit bit by bit blood in the spit like i bit my lip a autodidact you should try to buy back the time that you spent under the watchful eye of a proctor sweating bout assignments awfulness hiding behind that taut faux skin what can’t be taught is thoughtfulness what can’t be thought is i’m boasting. and just an exercise in a hop skip and a jump to the compost bin you didn’t almost win. i can identify a plant, i’m a botanist i’m no fiddler a finisher i learned to stand straight & calm with thumb under philosopher’s chin in chicago wind screw your face up i'm pablo picasso’in i’m no hobbyist…. i’m no columnist egotist fake regalness leaking from your feeble lips expelling deceitful tricks i’m spelling while i'm spelling my easel is my tablet as my brush is my chisel as as hermes wielding caduceus avada kedavra if i wanna douche, poof. aloof as i wanna present the mechanism proof well oiled & you thought i was lallygagging the time it took to tell these tribulations effortlessly smooth was as long as it took for you to realize you been duped ..oops i’m scheming schemes in my sleep & as I’m staring at the clerk while he baggin my booze i mean i’m lying i coulda said food i don’t even drink no more i just that that this could use a lil hint of tortured painter lil twist of norman mailer lil bit of portrait hatred torch it when your course a failure believe me i get it not really my business but you was all up in my shit & now i’m feeling omniscient it looks as though you’re stealing my grimace what's the matter trevor? i thought you was succeeding in business, as a young enterprising shark not really god not really god given but i’m somewhere in the middle and i’m feeding on images of your bleeding out right next where my fin is fin since nam word to josue KILL just fin in his prime i’m really uknowho don’t say the name nagini my kitty Potato kill these mother fuckers if they try to get near me enjoy that busy work you fuckin bum i’m no publicist.

wow you really like me you really like me wow you really like me it’s like i’m not an addict today anymore you really like me? you put a smile on my face likes to matter in a world barreling towards nihilism is…. nice i forgot about my imbalances and behaved like an upstanding american housewife with the light of my life this is me now a gift for taking a quarter century beat down from a damp, limp, sad, lipped, bad, fat, kid mt. olympus is fantastic what a relief my coming out party wasn’t fan4stic and they’re proud of me and I’m not losing touch with reality people i’ve never met told me good job but not who i really needed to hear it from good job dork, i don’t got time for life’s torment i was at the edge of forfeit now I’m at home toursick i just googled boorish cause i thought you would say that they was barkin orders i was tapping for tree sap now my life is my life & i ain’t trying to recap rehash i remember where you told me i would be at not in so many words but that’s the magic of over analytical hyper possibly narcissistic awareness of tones and context clues that’s what i said in my head in the shower before i came here ummmmm.. nice suit! anyway how are you? i couldn't imagine things being any better it's funny i happened to run into you i been busy too you know: important, important, groundbreaking stuff between changing the landscape of music and keeping up with the times i've just been absolutely pooped. oh did you? yeah that was uh, that was just a heightened dramatic piece to convey one's internal conflict with art and life, you know expectations and stuff i didn't realize you and i ever [fades to room noise] it’s never what you think, the score that’s in my head right now is uncharacteristically bleak the way we see our tragedies & triumphs never sweep to swells we piece our tales from low & high the in-between most meaningful a montage over best around resentment like sleeper cells since misinterpreting neitzsche failed again but kept the hopes despite your knee-jerk need to reinvent realistic via beatin dead writers proof of concept me and orson welles eat. who knows what your summer context is don’t know what i was expecting at this dinner for schmucks like both of us are mad pathetic but i propose a toast to what we thought that life would eventually get to because whoever the hell’s up there knows it’ll never be that but we're free to pretend to act as if it’s gonna happen or if it already has ignorant as amateurs half measures half empty glass speaking of which garçon- no odoul’s diet whatever then it’s how you went from "o’doyle rules" to here’s a helping hand but yeah i know fake stuff is possibly worse than real sugar but there’s a caveat whose explanation i don’t have the energy to get to and yes i know i'm thin. but that’s another day. maybe on an album that i know you’ll never play but even if you did, close friends could only read a novel as a biopic the same way an artist's only successful post biotin & lipo & filing down what makes them them & ironing out narratives with their agent & lost irony so how’s things without talkin about work? i don't know. how’s things without talkin about art? i don't know how’s thing without toxins à la carte? or really how’s life? i’m not really sure! i got a "fuck you, i made it" complex my ego made this complex a blank white painting contest 1st place in feigning complex what else is goin on? so and so’s gone and maybe i’m next if we didn’t stop calling maybe this wouldn’t be a staring contest with strangers but that’s not true either i'm staring at cutlery staring at a bad painting in unbearable space stuck between sentences to think we used to finish each other’s, and take on mannerisms like they could really be brothers. 10,000 hours in a room of vibrations 80,000 dollars just to pay for time wasted in 10,000 hours you grew and i replaced a shameful whole it made for gold became recluse then i erased you i love to make assumptions and hold over heads shit i never brought up. the credits too long to try to fit at the front i got a funny feeling top billing really goes to no one and we won’t fight over the tab

KVG: all of your heroes did **** charlie parker pantomiming pierrot pitiful parroting prose haunted pirouette the artist merry go track marks like marigolds because the martyr said so it’s parody sad clown put the sax down before the last slouch on his dads couch and got what he wanted apparently passed down from a long line of high death rate near do well stunt double hopefuls that wrapped round the block like a rubber band stretched around a bicep low fi hi def low res hi tech high risk high art poisonous archetypes that we tried to emulate like who gon' wave goodbye next? oscar wilde tutorial made a norman mailer outta oil painter you know how the story goes. can you feel it in your bones? the thought that you migh kill if it wasn’t for your poems? hyperbole. or do you think you cracked the code? pass it off as real based on cancerous pseudo-romantic tragedy-stricken performances of a biopic seek out suffering hopin to validate a song take it from a carcass whether black tar plugs or tarred lungs you're an artist despite any darkness or fault not because and I’ll scream it til I’m blue like the hue of the ghost that I wish heard all this Defcee: Navigating unfamiliar terrain. Tracked and mapped it. Bad habits had bills spinning in the drain. Slideshows of harm I caused in purgatory. Mercy’s gone, so I guess I’ll slip another clip into the frame. Tragicomic–paralyzed flesh on the smiling half. Idiot savant exhibit: writing behind the glass, or dealing with diaper rash, cleaning cradle cap. Told my daughter I loved her. She never has to say it back. A time warp constantly opens and closes while I’m living moment to moment and coping with loathing. Logan’s broken blades appeared to sharpen in the bone scan. Decoded the matrix before I’m absorbed in the program. Think I’m past the point of praying to an oil painting. Hopelessness roaming my head, and it’s been noisy lately. Crescendos crumbling into downbeats. Performing live between where the gods hide and the clouds sleep.

self portrait how’d it happen? tragic long line of addicts? no baggage passive aggression made magic in the form of this is what you get sharp darts art scum bag how’s that work? seems backwards. but that’s standard. he 98Jobs you woz that’s passion. i don't think so. cancelled. how’d it happen? habits? yes, many that’s average. what else? family? messy! how much? plenty! so is everybody else’s in some form or fashion deplorable actions valid and not so therapized language might fill in the plot holes every day macguffin’in suffering for the love of it. it being art but art’s not what it is the "it’s not art" it didn’t cause pain in discount dark lord wardrobe change & leave a trail of wreckage at your tendons and expect the full attention & attendance of your friends shortchanged but I don’t even think I have friends and any adversary’s only imagined without one then I couldn’t be the protagonist the thing is: you had BE somebody in order to be a has-been who in the fuck do you think you are? who in the fuck do you think you are? who in the fuck do you think you are? okay i was thinking bout the second verse while taking a piss and thought if i include it i should change it to shit 'cause shit is more stark of an image to give because this is the part where i’m supposed to get honest & shit okay i’ll try it again i was thinking bout what it would be like to be dead not like i wanna die but who’d be crying and shit who would post and r.i.p and who’d be silent and shit a line out the door or why wouldn’t x come and y wouldn’t ignore and i shoulda said something i thought his friends would or lying on the floor in a grief stricken fit while buying out his discog i used to wanna be tragic & misunderstood present as an addict cause balance means normal & normal means average & average means wack & never wrote a classic plastic then it kinda happened i clutched to my habits & desperately masked it time i’ll never have back soaring and crashing and honing the craft just wasn’t as important as purporting a passion shit i was tyrna be abstract droning in excess just a way to get away from having to explain those deplorable actions i’m a people pleaser I’m an evil genius i can be deceitful i can be your best friend i can be cerebral or a real piece of shit. you know: people "temporary cast-members of a long running but little-seen production of a play called fleeting" somethin like that.

whether i’m diving into the work or into you, i ain’t got no balance. whether i’m hangin by a talon or i’m pacing on a balcony i be goin crazy sometimes. too much passion maybe. i’m probably just selfish. i wasted someone’s years being difficult and i know i took a toll on them. i don't care how the house looks. i just want a home. it may not be a perfect picture, but in the amateur strokes they found soul. woke up and had a revelation followed by 6 and a half days of militant method acting meditation for your consideration deadpool spread heavily unfavored my epiphanic temporary leaf turn in august now my thoughts bounce to the cadence of autumn rain that’s flooded the stern i bowed until the theatre was empty as my apologies a stain we ousted for the most part but it still set on set: best costar. wrap party ends, what’s left of friends, or next to kin, who settled for a shell of him just him & what he makes more mistakes than memories. at best poor mozart. woke up and had a revelation my center stage is our living room ben and jerry’s non dairy x-files and the cat screaming admiration is temporary, and love outlast opening weekend you told me i’m not broken fox mulder with the case file open i want to believe. what a beautiful frame and photograph in it. from sonogram to modern day optic glow in the dark stars on the ceiling dark room brightener a moment flashed and encased in a 4 by 6 made my pulse flutter it surprised me actually. i run from most cameras but i like the way you capture me. one word not meant’s not totality development from negative sat crossed legged in the middle of a room in a slumlord’s kingdom, watched the energy zoom like planetary rings and let the love consume the areas that sting the bandages removed and we revealed wings with nothing left to prove. i gotta let go. i only need you. & the life we’re creating everyday together. i’m glad you give a shit.