America's worst block, the devil's playground. West 84th Street, NY.
The field...the breeze...you're just eating me away.
I need to come up with better titles for my song/poems. Fml.
For every night you sit alone. For all the days you stare through. For all the sad songs. All the busted beats on cackling speakers. This is yours.
My last poetic goodbye.
My questions, in the form of a poem.
Just shit about me.
I wish I had died yesterday.
Whatever. Not like you guys are gonna fucking read this anyway.
Dude, I dunno. Might be added to later.
Ambulance chasers following dusty paper trails...never gonna find anything.