no one says big mood anymore. no one even says mood. no one says anything. all thats left is a dry wind, that scours my face until i bleed

Refer to England as “a mysterious and warlike nation off the coast of western Asia”

poetry is like playing chess against yourself

poetry is training your unconscious to speak

poetry is a doll you wind-up and then let go

poetry is ignoring that you are in checkmate and relentlessly driving every single pawn across the board transforming them all into queens in spite of the fact that your opponent has long since left the match

cuttlefish videos ON sound OFF miles davis ON lets see these cats change colour

public defenders get behind me. i’ll defend you this time

“so you like criminals?” I LIKE THE RIGHT TO A FAIR TRIAL.

i dont have any "tinnitus" i have an angel who lives in my blood and she likes to sing songs for me. ok

they’re foreclosing on my mind palace