I don't know now I don't know why I don't know any It's all fakery, irony
I feel cheap, like a rug whose trice use and sell again on a market, where everything there is retail, sale in lowest price you ever imagine. Tattered an inch in rotting desperate for dying.
It's trash maybe because, flies try and see me, dying to lay and flee. Fleas are all over me, crawling like there's a tea,
Aches that takes Frustrate and castrate Trice it teases Flee's and mimic as it tries to devour the stake.
Sweat out the fate Bleed out the hate Tear that never astray, stay on the sheet, never live and see's it. I find it crawling, fogging the ever-tainted state.
Now it's transforming into something, fingers are trembling, the mind is overheating. But here it was staying and never living, always clinging, nagging, napping ready to spread out and play the shit out of me. That gives me anxiety.
Hope that you have a great day!