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shh just put some bass on this or more vocals, change the ending, make it beautiful, you harmonious baby bears



waking up cold, scared and facing the wall
from a dream of your high-school bathroom stalls
with the cigarette burns on the toilet seat
biting your nails, hiding your feet
from the principal, invisible, color me predictable
using second person to seem utterly invincible

oh well, weather sucks. do you feel alive?

anxiously awaiting the clouded conviction
sticky armpits and a predisposition
for missing the cues, indeterminate hues
of sweaty pink palms and vomiting blues

oh well, weather sucks. do you feel alive?

loading up the ark with a thousand beasts
taking the wrong precaution and allowing two of each
boarding up the door and running to the window
scraping my knees on the sill climbing out and saying oh

oh well, weather sucks, i want to feel alive

biting your nails and hiding your feet
from the ark loaded up with a thousand beasts
invisible, predictable, running to the window
using second person to seem utterly invincible

oh well, weather sucks, i've got to feel alive


5 stems in the zip! first ever. weehhhhh

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i meant to warn you 

of the ash marks on your cheeks

but it was our turn at the drive-through

and the marks stayed for weeks

(do you ever shower?)


and i was going to listen

to that band you suggested

but Pandora wouldn't load the station

and prog rock is not easily digested


(it's shit)


and i was going to come help

but this skin of shame and regret

isn't going to grow itself

and this is the longest winter yet


(please don't hate me)

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F Gm D

F Fsus2 D7

F D7

Em Bm Dm G

F G G6 A

please, if anyone can take this somewhere, write lyrics for it, build on it, do so. c:


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you want
my tongue to make sweeping statements
over your definite articles, even though
you are not ready for the contractions
promised in our portmanteau


i want
your vocals vibrating verbatim
to mimic my intentional inflections
taking down your constituents  
with my iambic interjections

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of sleeplessness



"well maybe you should turn the fucking lights off"

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you want me more as i occupy less
and less of the shifting atmosphere
often magenta in hue
but lately a rotten, mottled pumpkin
whenever i am around you

i watched you look at me
like how i used to at you
but it wasn't a catch, you weren't caught
because it doesn't raise alarm;
you have been waiting for this
for me to finally 'love myself'
for my body to condense to the shape
of whatever you think a woman is

and for the longest time i waited too
for you to come around
for me to be less round
for my body to deserve
the confidence i boasted having and
the attention i felt sick of wanting

i sat on a sliding scale
shame at one end
the hunger of happiness at the other
and blushed indigo with worry
that i would crush it beneath my thighs
that no one would want to be between them
and that no one would fit
but with the way you spoke to me
on days i wore green
it made me think of ways we could be changed

and it does not bother me now, that i have
but it bothers me that you haven't
it bothers me that watching my legs
isn't something i can 'catch' you doing
because you assume we're both
still waiting for you to look

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elfie selfie

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it is luxury to romanticize danger
to subtly tilt our hips towards what will kill us
inventing vampires and demons and werewolves
with rakish propriety and terrifying, magnetic desire
when all that does is give monsters the excuse
the encouragement
to hold her hand
with a claw digging into her radial
to hold her face
to keep it from turning away
and to hold her heart
so that they are the only reason
she is still alive
and she is obliged

we apply tar sticks to chapped lips
of heroines we have to shatter first
getting them intoxicated on brutal passion
and calling it love
letting them protest and push, at first
and calling it agency
teaching them to fuck the dark-eyed shades
that steal over the window’s threshold
until no one trusts intuition
as much as bloodlust
and these heroines are to swallow copper and salt
along with the idea that their power
their voices
their virtues
are all something that can be given
and in turn, taken
by the monsters they have been groomed for
that they must glorify those who try to own them
and gloss over the absurdity
that marble men so revered and flawless
can tarnish the shine of their souls
just by being the first to penetrate them
that having a cock inside them changes who they are
eliminates their worth as a less-than-human being
leaves them dirty, impure, undesired
and made to think the fault is in themselves

it is privilege to romanticize danger
and it is the dangerous who do it.

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