where the writers are
The dents in my jaw

The dents in my jaw

are from puking up my life

Iv’e dove from the counter

to the gutter

and crashed out on top of old damp hobos

My interior decided to retire fear

and drink and drink and drink

I don’t care

I mean, my interior doesn’t care

So I let it break me

I let it take me

To the depths of the transient world

a place without hospitals

or anywhere I can feed my dog

So what I love to do drugs

and now I lie where I will end

So what

Nothing is cool

You know

or you should know by now

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