the recon / toilet break cries.

i sell my soul for a grand reason and cough up my pride for paper.

would you cry for someone else's brain tumour even

if it meant you're swallowing needles for them too? i

look at the mirror and i'd fuck myself.

i do this for myself.

for myself so that other people do it for me.

waking up is already a hard one, i'd become a sixties queen just

for a little kindness, even if it's synthetic and comes from the wrongest of place.

i don't care.

just watch what you say to me.

men with money calling me stupid, can't hold a conversation.

i still pray to god in happy times and call up my mother when i am crying in the toilet.

call up my friends when it's bad and i'm reaching for my lighter in the dark.

self-destruct because it's easier to die than to live for.

dive into the kill first, mourn the murder when it's dead and buried.

i do kindness for kindness, that if in the pipeline you met me with a foul

mouthed bitch, i'll hold my tongue for you.

my temper or i cry out in front of you.

you'd love to see me damselling in distress.

men with nothing but money.

getting by and they will live better than i ever will.

that is my tragedy and theirs.