Coma Toes

I paint dash lines like yellow dripping icy melt all across your floor,
Painting my way out of the front door.
I paint my face black and stay in the middle of the middle of the night,
I am always right.

Heart breakers? Risk takers? Money makers? Fucking fakers,
All those billions of fakers.

And who do you think sat frustrated dreaming up chaos to sweep across,
Who do you think is completely lost?
Who do you think sat with eyes red, feet and legs all tangled in a mess,
Ripping all the threads of the sheets off of this here bed?

Leaf rakers, medicine takers, tax payers and baby makers,
Fucking fakers.

And now all I'm doing is playing catchup with Death,
Paging through all these chronological regrets,
Interest rates, healthy markets and the slavery of debt,
Everyone around me trying to convince themselves there is no death.

Fakers.

blegch

My fist in the air, blocking out the sun If only I had a definite record of all the crying I'd done The business of being an alcoholic's son All my miles and measurements, I'm feeling stung Keep your pennies out of my wishing well my thoughts lead me to dwell, melt and swell Got an internal organ with 4 chambers forged in Hell My soundtrack, beats me feelings that I could never tell And I am still trying to tickle myself well, again, But this internal organ, so swollen, please mend got a parasitic adventure of death in this head. drawn and spent, ripped apart, so much for these 4 chambers in my heart. So much for these 4 chambers in my heart. So much for these four chambers in my heart. warm and sticky riding fluid into your center, i materialize words and letters, im a goliath of your dreams and i make everything better. i make everything worse and hellish, things i say are disgusting and brackish, i leak radiation and my teeth are yellow, hello, goodbye, no more hello's.

Gastronomical

She stood like my mother holding a newport cigarette
the fake smile of depression soaking everything wet
and my beams reflect the eyes of a ghost outside
My fogged breath, and the proof that I will die

And now I float above the air, United Airlines 747
I make realities; you are all 1-10, I am eleven
And the benadryl soaking my cells, coach class hell
Tripping the Atlantic, kingdoms in the clouds that swell

And as I dig at the insides of my weak guts
I am candlelit eternity introvert, drowning in love
And as I trip through my own catacombs I create inside
I find a static vision of you happily haunting me all my life

My eyes will be kept shut air tight, and my ears peaked
to hear all those frequencies laid out neat
And my past is NOTHING but mine
I'm teaching myself to travel time.