my_war
skinny the war in iraq isn't a big deal. 040603
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skinny level edge backs against the ledge no knives the stone hard eyes without the longing or fear that it would disappear they cling on nuturing never ending obsessions on the table lines needed walls cover tips the balance don't touch me wiped out cornering mouthed the word money head shake handshake out to get a long way from corrosion pushes closer to the edge wired not connected peeling back plastic wrap tinted green and all illusion existing caught up crossfire trading tall tales where are you going where do you fail whats that mean back and forth side by side loose knot weave keep it up altogether or whatever that means passing underneath the trespass dont get to close mouth the word your money if I fade I may and I want to fade away all that I do is pray that you will be there too if this were trying to deceive some minds what the hell do you got to say? altogether 040603
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skinny i like hair 040603
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skinny i know a kid that lives in a tent with his gramma. im serious. his gramma gives him all these perscription drugs. i guess defax dont wanna fuckwith 'em 040603
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notme landmark_of_groaning 040603
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no reason he_war

cat_power
040603
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dosquatch my_war wages in my head,
grenades of self_doubt and self_loathing are heaved inwards, wrecking my thoughts, derailing my desires.
Mindquakes that rattle me to the core, reverberate off the inside of my skull and fall down to feed the butterflies in my gut. Even though I_have_words, they tumble and tangle on their way out, tying my tongue to my tonsils and leaving me to sound like a stuttering fool.
I want to be suave and eloquent, to have poetry pop on my tongue like champagne bubbles. It sounds so good, so clear, so inspiring in my head, but then my lips begin to move and another grenade goes off.
I try to drown the noise, declare a chemical truce, but all I ever do is end up drunk with a vague feeling that I've somehow lost another battle, and the war wages on.
040603
what's it to you?
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