I tried really hard, really hard to stop.
But I always wrote, about my dreams and poetry.
The truth is like poetry, no one fucking understands it.
IF they say they do they're a fucking liar or a trickster, either way, run away
with dreams, with drugs, with night-terrors, alcohol.
with foot in mouth, brain come undone, I type endlessly
Push yourself, Push yourself
Fucking Push yourself
warning, unclassifiable data phenomena may cause hallucinations
