1. |
Fixer
01:45
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Every night when I fall asleep
it crawls out of my body.
When the dreams begin I understand
that it has taken control of my being,
initiated dream sequences to keep my mind busy
while it maintains my core, check my brain,
changes all the burnt neurons and rewires synapses,
then it crawls out of my body,
this huge insect that lives inside me
but only comes out at night when I'm fast asleep.
He tightens the screws on my jaw,
changes my body fluids, sucks all my marrow out
and replaces it with new marrow.
It has antlers that measure the electric charge in my brain
it measures my heart rate and adjusts it to fit my breathing,
then after all is done it crawls back in
seals the wound
and reboots my brain
for the new day.
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2. |
Blood Marks The Spot
01:42
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These broken souls crawling over
past mistakes and shards of glass
these destroyed, complitely obliterated minds
trying to pass on their guilt
let it trickle down to the future generations
Fuck it up for all of us
We are sinking deeper
Drowning in liqour and self-hatred
Spiraling down like some beautiful
Fibonaccian sequence,
crippled animal crawling to safety
body full of bullets.
Bloody footprints mark the spot
We can never escape
But it would help a lot
if we even wanted to.
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3. |
My Twin Sister
04:39
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I used to have a twin sister
but I ate her in the womb.
She was caring and kind
and she was pretty too.
I used to have a twin sister
but our womb became her tomb.
With numb fingers I scraped her flesh off the bones,
mind fixed on my own survival.
I used to have a twin sister
but I ate her in the womb.
Convulsions ravaged my body
as I sucked the beauty of existence
transfixed on the bliss of becoming a real person.
I used to be two people
me and my twin sister
But now she's just a memory
a non-existent blister.
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4. |
Shrapnel Grenade Soul
01:43
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Most people probably don’t know how it feels like to be five years old and to wake up in the middle of the night to the sounds of your dad fighting his friend in the corridor.
Most people don’t know how it feels to be four and go get your dad from the bar on a cold winter night.
Most people don’t know how it feels when they take your dad away to the police and bankruptcy and alcoholism and replace him with a fat blob full of alcohol, slurs and bitterness.
Most people don’t know how it feels when that blob abuses you mentally for ten years and destroys your sense of security completely in a place you were supposed to call “home”.
Most people have not woken up to a shotgun.
Most people don’t know how it feels to be clever enough to see that blob re-enact his own traumas and revenging all the grudges he had towards the man you once thought of as your “dad”, but not that much anymore.
Most people don’t know the hatred it fills you with, slow, gradual, but exponential growth.
Most people don’t know how much struggle it takes to crawl out of that hell and rebuild your whole personality, while very, very carefully trying not to fuck up anything.
Most people don’t know any of this.
Most people don’t know how it feels to have a shrapnel grenade for a soul.
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5. |
My Obituary
03:08
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One day they will read my obituary in a local newspaper
and it will be something in the lines of this:
a former sober person, a recent LSD enthusiast dissolved in the middle of an experimental sonic performance last Friday.
He was in the middle of a 9 week long guitar solo/masturbation binge
lurking in the fringes of the eternal and everflowing consciousness
which kindly erased his existence and made him vaporize mid sentence holding a B minor 7 chord, standing in the middle of a screetching feedback loop. He will be survived by a relieved family who were getting tired of his shit anyway and commented to our reporter very briefly:
'whatevs.' "
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6. |
Broken Word Poetry
03:27
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My mind is a deflected bullet
aimed at the wrong direction
Nobody knows where I'll hit
but everybody knows I will destroy something
when I do.
My life is a wasted opportunity
Helpless and unable to change its course
at the center of all this unwanted attention.
Worn out before my thirties
Destroyed by my own expectations
Torn apart by my own sense of self-worth.
No need to say you're sorry.
Neither am I.
I don't know where I'm headed
But I know I'll be there soon.
Watching my friends roll joints
always makes me think
what makes me so different from them?
Nothing, I guess.
Just the amount of self-hatred varies.
In the end we are all the same.
Grabbed in the chokehold of life.
Strangled to death.
It was an honor
to die with you all.
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7. |
Electric Flies
16:46
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