[Bodey]

I'm jammed up at night, more often than not. I try to soften the spot by drinking Monsters a lot, drivin around with my friends but I'm self-conscious, distraught. Sinking on a spaceship without thinking who I came with but suddenly I blink and I'm the manic kid who caved in... to silly little antics, insidious and rancid, the smell of cigarettes are campin in a breeze between the branches. Naturally erroneous, a vat of inappropriate... jokes that soak in bubble baths with floods of soapy loneliness. A person way too old for this-- the coke, the spliffs, and ropes of spit from wolfing out the opiates. Feeling worried? No, not really. I've got Mcflurries, flipflop feelings, with a mind as sturdy as squashed ceilings. Abdominal pain's rugged, I'm onto insane rubbish worse than a vein ruptured from Mr. Cobain's strummin. A few have died, croaked, left me alive, stoked, and the only way I deal with it is suicide jokes.