I Know You’re Checking Out Your Flaws

I know you’re checking out your flawsStanding at the mirror, counting imperfectionsNegative thoughts like these rather gnawSo I’m offering up thorough inspectionsIt’s best to take it slow around curvesHaste would be such an utter wasteWanting you to feel it in each of your nervesThis examination shall be conducted by touch & taste

Hiding Discarded Notes In A Shoebox

Hiding discarded notes in a shoeboxA back-catalog of creativity to mendOffering our souls to be consumed& an apology if we might offend

Rubbing Their Fingers Over The Stereo Knob

Rubbing their fingers over the stereo knobThe frequencies distorted on the airwavesKings of the new world & thus apocalypticSearching for something more pragmatic to crave These technocrats with no concept of realityTasking – without offering an alternate fateDemanding citizens for homages to be digitalWith no power to control – or else we attenuate Words of

I Don’t Know What The Hell I’m Doing

I don’t know what the hell I’m doingI’m just trying to feel my way throughThis existence offers many pitfallsWorking within our struggles, those BluesThere’s only one way to survive hereYou’ve got to continue to fight your urgesFinding the right path to paradisePiecing together words to sing the dirty dirges

Offering Up A Minimalism

Offering up a minimalismFinding cool without effortNot weak enough to shareTough; never going to revertA mental state removedNot allowing for them to killMy soul still beating todayThe essence won’t be distilledTry as you forever mightI won’t be boiled down to a wordNo single thought or characterAll my expressions slowly heard