114f





I've got some letters inside of my drawer

that should have been stamped and delivered

One is addressed to my ex

it says I'm the type of kid who can't be lived with

One is addressed to my friends

it says I'm a mess so y'all can't visit

One is addressed to myself

but I don't know what personality or hand to give it



I'm a God damn misfit...mismatched, but never missed much

Mr Right-time-wrong-place with a long face until our lips touch

I don't miss the mistrust, its what got our messages mixed up

Before I rip up your letters let us see if I can tear you away from his clutch



This stuff's a whole other drawer

from a different dresser I'm not ready to address

I went to the west to get my mind off things and I'm already depressed

I give up. Get let down. Down play. Play games. Put on my game face

Face my pharmecudial needs and feed on my medicine, but I don't like the way it tastes



I go place to place without enough money to put a bed under me

So I share my sleeping space with rodents, insects, and dust bunnies

I laugh at the mess I've created for myself until it gets unfunny

But I'm content in the fact that they don't expect respect, sex, love, or trust from me



When I'm hungry I can taste it

I hide in the basement

Check up on me every now and then

Because my mood swings low...and I can feel myself going down again



Falling off is easy. Getting put on takes a bit of ass kissing

I'd rather listen to myself flop on the ground than hear the sound of a mattress spring

I rap and sing and talk and write and often type with 2 fingers

The "hunt and kill" method

I edit one third of a word per second



Your emails sit in my uns