Pot Helps pt. 34

Crash! the smallest hint
Bang! the million scents
I’ve had a hard heart hearing
Where the old men were screaming
an apolitical nightmare of death
and memory
The way that some children can be

The way we all end up losing to see
It’s all over
How many more moments of early afternoon sunsets
can there be before it’s all over?
As I come all over;
as I be, as I am,
all over you.

It’s hard to pull out when you’re in
like a million radios singing
like a million frequencies traveling
come in,
come in.
It’s hard to pull out when you’re about to come
like a billion copies of me on the run,
just come,
just come,
just come.

Pot Helps pt. 33

I sip on wine and I chug on beer,
I puff on weed and I nibble on ears,
your ears.
Hear me dear?
Hear me coming am I coming through clear?
The shit we say and the bullshit we hear.
Oh dear,
looking at me like I was made entirely from negative fear.
Backing up your rear,
hearing the roars of tomorrow.
So much sorrow,
as we live we borrow
a
little more.
Hearing you like I wasn't lying I swear I was just trying not to snore.
I mine for life like death was my most prized ore,
and all I need is just a little more,
just a little more,
just a little more;
the sweetest of all sap.
Inside of my closed eyelids like time slows down and I’m just taking a cosmic nap.
I live in your lap.
I live in finger-plucked chords and the white noise of the ceiling fan.
I live within catacombs I built in my head and it’s about as dark as I can.
Because I can.
I can.

Pot Helps pt. 32

I travel by whale fin,
million dollar lips.
I travel and I go into tailspins,
them billion dollar hips,
billion dollar bullshit.
Milly Midwestern as we Vanilli fake this,
this American life.
All open mouths haunting, chasing me with your lies,
suicide
suicide
suicide

Watch me break all of my hand breaking down their face,
watch me get full on emptiness in my usual way.
Watch me walk away,
watch me walk away.
Watch me be one of the collectively forgotten and ignored 18 on any typical day.
Like today: someone help me,
somebody has got to pay,
some have to burn so the rest of us can stay high all day;
and where does that leave you?
who the fuck do I gut if the traitor is you?
How do I keep my blood pumping red if you fill me with blue?
will you?
will you?
will you?
or will you add a different color from the palette to your paintbrush,
if I give you a chance to start anew?

I travel by my own two feet,
a million miles underneath.
I travel and I leave.
Leaving nothing but a little heat,
and even that retreats.
Razor blade dreaming as we pretend to enjoy this,
this American life.
All open mouths haunting, chasing me with your lies,
suicide
suicide
suicide