An Exercise In Self Portraiture : Go Shoot Yourself
The Number Twelve Looks Like You
Nuclear.Sad.Nuclear

Paper Weight Pigs
The Number 12 Looks Like You
Mongrel 

The snow is coming
the flakes are all a flurry
some touched my skin
they melt away but I have a purpose
I never sway walking for hours
don’t feel the cold I can’t see the sun
there’s just the road, the trees, the poles of leaves like vomit on the ground.

I arrive and inhale,
I inhale and exhale
and I know in my heart the devil doesn’t lie
I am a fucking machine.