i am the ghost of 99 all my heroes are already dead living out of a backpack sleeping under bridges and on people’s couches eating dry ramen
all i own is a diskman some paperbacks this notebook and my younger brother’s skateboard wearing sunglasses because my eyes can’t handle light
haven’t slept in six days and have trouble remembering my name i answer every question with what? because i’ve ruined my hearing at shows
burned bruised and cut myself and everything i own is saturated with the smell of coffee smoke jack daniels sweat and rejection
addicted to cigarettes on purpose because I’m trying to kill myself slowly. “self improvement is masturbation but self destruction…” is art.