Im sick of writing on a perfect sheet of paper

The lines, so perfectly aligned

So perfectly bright what it makes me blind

Nothing in my minds a perfect line

And nothing in my minds fine

But like the paper

Things had to die to make it not fine

My hearts died like the trees died

And its a drag to be alive

Not a drag like on a cigarette

But a drag like living makes me feel like shit

And being awake makes me wish I were buzzed

Not buzzed like getting a haircut

But buzzed like a bottle of vodka and a blunt

And the blunt gives me the need to cut

Not cut as in fuck

But cut like a razor to cut my veins up

And the cutting curves my minds lines

And the thoughts I write on them are so crazy-

They're fine.

In my minds lines death is fine.

And in my minds lines your fine.