I write shit. Sometimes.
We dream in black and white, And cannot touch those things Things that make us feel and weep And things that make destruction seem constructive. I’m tired and my words are jumbled, Speech is mumbled and if it weren’t, It wouldn’t mean a thing anyway. So patronise me, tell me everything’s just fine (it never was) Reassurance in the reality of escaping reality. I...
I make juke and footwork. Sometimes