Anything worthwhile, that is robust and resilient, that is the object of my material desires.
Sometimes alright without compsure.
Groom my mane, I need stability.
Russell's death and hypnotically driving back from Birmingham, help place me in a daze of the dreams that haunt and please me
One hundred cookies eaten by my dead friend; The smells of beauty and attraction following me home like a stray and lonely imaginary friend, but so vivid and true
A lucid dream that insists that its not and the borders between what is and isn't seem to fade
Nothing is more dreamy than rolling around in the grass or being given condolences
If I were ever able to handle important things in my life, I could handle each of you
But together, you dead - you kissingly alive, together you confuse the fuck out of me
This town is too hot.