YouInventedMe

worrying in the quiet. if you're not okay, then I'm not okay.

worrying in the quiet. if you're not okay, then I'm not okay.

distant entire those who've shared the alchemy of blood those empires of yesterday those reasons for crawl and there's something about a blushing ghost all the art we make of cobwebs while the earth in glacial increments dictates the strange and terrible director & stage light & tunnel

if you can't leave 'em with a laugh you can leave 'em sawed in half I'm hoisting the white flag and hanging it half-mast see I've got past experience I know the shape of a casket keep the question on your tongue it doesn't mean you didn't ask it I'm composed of screeching static a vaguely man-shaped panic underneath all the anxiety the depression's feeling manic like whoa there partner wait your turn we've got another bridge to burn and contents of a leaky gut to empty up here in the churn forty years all haunted by the specters of the spectrum unsure which monsters mean him harm and which want to protect him either way he's gobbled up a hollow bag of bones to crunch here lies the living memory of a life completely motherfucked spent a decade seeking comfort in the powders and the potions and hands that turned to sand gone sifted when he tried to hold em now he's shifted or replaced all of the idols on his totem but no bell's ever been unrung sometimes broken

worrying in the quiet. if you're not okay, then I'm not okay.

core the lighthouse, love shrink from the ocular glow like all things ended

if you can't leave 'em with a laugh you can leave 'em sawed in half I'm hoisting the white flag and hanging it half-mast see I've got past experience I know the shape of a casket keep the question on your tongue it doesn't mean you didn't ask it I'm composed of screeching static a vaguely man-shaped panic underneath all the anxiety the depression's feeling manic like whoa there partner wait your turn we've got another bridge to burn and contents of a leaky gut to empty up here in the churn forty years all haunted by the specters of the spectrum unsure which monsters mean him harm and which want to protect him either way he's gobbled up a hollow bag of bones to crunch here lies the living memory of a life completely motherfucked spent a decade seeking comfort in the powders and the potions and hands that turned to sand gone sifted when he tried to hold em now he's shifted or replaced all of the idols on his totem but no bell's ever been unrung sometimes broken