When 2:30am is a religion, and you realize from the rooftop your eyes are fixed forever forward towards the sky, you begin to fall in love with introspective inquiries like “who do I put this show on for?” Self-lead expeditions of inquisitions lead against your own heresy.
Set me free, set me free.
More spiritual than a cigarette on a Saturday night, and a coffee on a Sunday morning. Caffine my contradiction, I need to slow down. Adrenaline my addiction, I need to slow down. Every pack my persciption, I can’t put these down. Where has hope gone? Stuck with its bastard offspring, hopelessness, borne from my own bereavement after a short fling with happiness, I wish the worst for this child of mine, because it wishes the worst for me, we are one.
Almost perfect, but for how long?
An American dream, what did u sell me?