man i

talk some shit, and can't stop myself...and it's the truth what i say, but not the whole truth, and not everything comes out of my mouth, although it seems that after the baring of my soul there could be nothing left, there's more because broken as i am, there are always peices to be found, scattered here in the hallways of my soul...


i need a janitor to sweep them up, save me, sweep me up, put me in a bottle that isn't broken and doesn't smell like it was forgotten