joykill

a jammed lock
turns my surroundings to a brazen hell
a lonely canine
bleeding inside his humid cave
by the time i snap out of this
the sun will be dead
some fuck stopped by to ruin my good mood
to size me up for his hidden blade

the idea of promise, bastardized
in a wave of distilled shame
a graveyard of empty threats
from a stranger's mouth
on my lover's bed
inside those blank stares
are the left over bones
of a tiring man
doppelganger, where is she?

so me and my friend

are starting a small design company.


check it out. hit us up if you need any work.

www.dielaughingdesign.wordpress.com

keep in mind, that we're just starting out. much more to come!

I
http://www.mediafire.com/?z5ydmetoxwh

II
http://www.mediafire.com/?mmjfwm0zyyu

got bored, here's another one.

1
www.mediafire.com/?owvnmomt30w

2
www.mediafire.com/?twwahmy4xwj

2010 mixtape i.e. mediafire compilation

for your listening pleasure or displeasure.

i'm gonna keep doing these, so keep checking back.

1
http://www.mediafire.com/?ycnmnecyyjy

2
http://www.mediafire.com/?efnnz2mde2n


it's all over the place. enjoy.

nazi america

now that's comedy.

maladjusted

even after the small wars, it takes a while to realize your options have run out. i'm supplying all the information they require but can't help but feel it's a giant waste. like trying to straighten the crook in my spine, it's simply constructed to fail. a looming insignificance that makes sagan's sentiment easier to swallow. sleeping with drugs under my pillow is a worry of the past, there's no stability in savage habits. somewhere, someone will dream of throwing private knife parties for your small lapse in judgment. chalk this up to new found neuroticism. it's hard to be grateful for the things you have when your ideals become less tangible, when bad days have burned out but don't fade by the next morning. i've found a new outlet to avoid further fucking up. the ache in a loved one's eyes is enough to keep these feet pounding the pavement in a different kind of world than the one i was comforted in. i lift the sheets to watch my body wither. this is no way to live. considering a smoke break but there's no one around to talk to. these fingers should be crossed for a call to lift the weight but for now, i'll put them towards our sanity.

i'm a quick learner

drive the nails,
there was a strength
but it seems to be my nature to find
cracks in the gold.
high on the blindside,
baring spider bites
that leak into my lack of routine.
i don't want to talk,
the real world is weakening.
so with rattled nerves and tired words,
i soldier on.
this is a testimony
of tiny devils in the way.
an imperfect picture
shaped in imaginary eyes.
a standstill cursed
to waste through wires.
when fooling yourself becomes an addiction,
there's no way out.
i'm not dead,
but my dreams are draped in pine.

clockwork

the sun sets behind the ridge
where apathy is born
into the static of mixed signals
buzzing like lies in a bloated skull.

on the day i feel endless compassion,
this room will be colder than my corpse.

these are the ugliest things.

celestial beating

when it's lights out,
the heart will waver
like a liar's tongue
quietly dancing with the likes
of latent distress
between graves
the breeze of steady rot
smells of gospel's death
flown to the swollen ground
as if it were eyes of grief
it matters very little
when saviors have spent their high
leave the throne empty
if not for the meat in our teeth
then for the war
that will wake every sleeping street
your crutch is our cross to bear

i know halos from horns

veins

it's been steadily beaten into my skull
these speeches have lost any and all meaning
and there's debates of cutting you out.
you're starting to live under my skin.
there are no silver lines shining.
i've taken the breath out of life.
i'm harboring this hate in the vein of the battered dog.

bukowski mask

it's fucking sad
you prefer to hide
and skim their work
through clearance eyes
faking rags just for kicks
you're a bad habit
collecting ginsberg's spit
from skid row
to silver spoons
that desire for dim bulbs
in seedy rooms
it's not real art
they can't be starved
reduced to waste
void of heart
no one gives a shit
who your heroes are
flush the rats
wash the earth