sicktomystomach
jesus saves at walmart

i’ma test your faith
rummage through your empire
while you’re all on your knees 
smile at god all the way to the bank
cuz we’re all alone down here 
stand up and stand tall
we all see figures that keep us from sleep 
you’re no prophet 
you’re a puppet on the hand of a dead man 
get a new face, yours is bleeding ignorance

roots

like roots to a tree, you’re anchored to me

kaysville

oh my god, it’s all dead
we’re all dead
oh my god, it’s all dead in here
I’m running away from this place

oh my god, it’s all gone they’re all gone
oh my god, they’re never coming back
they’re. never. coming. back.

I’m losing sleep
my aching head
I need some rest

I never thought I’d have a thought so bad
and even though I don’t believe in it
I’m so ashamed

I never thought I’d see them put you in the ground
but now that you’re gone it’s like this sun only sets for me
it’s always the same
it’s like nothing has changed

this pain in my chest
doesn’t seem to want to fade

I ran away from my home
because that northern sky
reminds me of you
and these old wounds
keep growing fake pains

mountains

get me away from these mountains
I need new streets to clear my head
because everything I love could be dead by sunset
and I can’t afford those vices

constantly cauterizing head from heart
but it keeps bleeding through
you’re wasting your life believing in anything but you

I had a dream…

That I was eating lunch at my old jr high and some fat kid called me a bitch. So I natually replied “hey fuck you man, how ‘bout we go outside and I knock your teeth out?” and he replied by pulling out a snub nose .38 special and pulling the hammer back in my face. I am certain that this was God’s way of telling me that fat people can’t be trusted and that I should carry my .44 mag at all times. Amen.

longboard space cruise, jazz game, workaholics, bud light, very swag

paint my thoughts on these white walls of mine

herbivore 

herbivore 

people watchin

people watchin

come on, the desperation stays the same

grip tight to the reins, smoke lights by the chain. you won’t find no letter by my remains,
not caught dead settling.
no black sweater, slacks or shoes with any pennies in a federal sake. a steady hand ready to drive stakes through any bloodsucker. sick of the news, yeah eat him up. cover him up like headstones in the fall