I haven't had time to think recently, let alone time to record anything heh. But the other day I wrote something, for no particular reason but I liked it, I guess. Rreally, there is no motive, no reason behind this so don't try reading into it. You won't find anything but a whim.
This probably isn't love', it's most likely just the worms in my blood churning up my heart for dinner; chewing out my stomach and letting my heart sink. It's probably just all the little people feeding off misery (for a good cause!). This probably isn't love, just all the cigarettes catching my words and stealing my breath. This probably isn't love, but it's close enough; the nicotine keeps me warm and the beer keeps me single.
I didn't stutter.
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