Dad's on a mission to bleach the kitchen while I'm here wishin' I had a pot to piss in. Brain feels like laundry in soap and hot water, with a few sparks around where it needs a solder to retard the instincts of a rampaging marauder leading you sheep to the slaughter. I oughta fall out like a pipboy, scope to the head with no noise, or left broke, outdoors instead, like a used toy. My friends act like cowboys, but they don't mean to annoy, just harass the masses into pulling their heads out of their asses and while that sounds crass, it's a grueling task to put on the mask, subconciously granting control of a self fulfilling prophecy; My mind set in monotony: "Talk's cheap." Action speaks louder you see. While I sleep I pick through the pieces of the dream, awake to slake the price of blood on my pate and rake in the take from the sods of the state to form a more perfect union between my loves and the hate that pervades in waves slashing through the haze of the daze I put myself in to pass by the days. Most times my mind strays to thoughts I've spliced from different shades of life, bad decisions I tried, and all the times I lied just to get my own piece of the pie. I let them go with a sigh and a puff, hit the green from the rough, roll into the hole like it's putt putt. Sometimes even I don't know what the fuck I'm saying, but my words are uninsured for their braying, aimlessly spraying about like the limbs flailing of a drowning child. Still, their burn is caliente, not mild. Just watch when it's my turn to be riled; I let out the stockpile of verbal ammunition at any in my vision who take the time to listen to the truth I spin from fallacy. My youth 'til now, an analogy for the path I seek for release from how callously I agree to keep my feet on the trail of the Weak. Yeah, my outlook's bleak, and I can't believe I continually agree to waste my time on the hunt for the light from a lime when, inside, I feel the shadows are a better place to reside while I function like a mime trapped in a box with no walls or locks; All I hear is the clock's tick tocks as it mocks each second I spend waiting on life to bend, baited like the breath in my breast. If I had just one wish, it would be to never remember any of this, but it's stuck like a stye in my mind's eye, never ceasing to persist.