lyrical laxative.

I think on my feet and my minds always running, it's like my thoughts find it too hard to sit.

maybe if I had a mother fuckin softer stool, I could deal when life hands me harder shit.

my heart is ripped, I carved a list, depicting risks that I should bother with.

the shocker is, that its bombarded with, all shrapnel that you've been harvesting.

lately you're so condescending and defensive...it's kinda-sending the wrong message.

like a bomb descending on defenseless, old senses and it's so senseless.

when I'm sensing this intense tension, pent-up aggression lashing out for attention, with intention preventing my further affection, mentioning deafening divine intervention.