There’s a high chance that your playlist will save you from one suicide, 

During days of vacant possibilities and transcendent aspirations. 

There’s a jumbo pen over your head, 

that would fuck with your guts and, 

you would spit senses and mostly nonsenses from your lower intestine. 

You won’t water your dusts, you won’t giggle over pretentious motherfuckers, 

you won’t complain about the hungry kids amidst the prolific pile of bones, 

you won’t stare at those surreal paintings over a kick ass brandy…

you won’t suck those breasts with obscurity all over your insomniac paradise, 

You won’t…you won’t…you won’t…you won’t…

You can’t. 

You would put yourself inside a bonafide minefield, 

You would fucking do. 

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