no brakes from shut in by pigeon pit

april blooming white jasmine spills over on to the worn out floral pattern couch where I have been waiting . hey kid i think our vessel is sinking under the weight of our dark as black coffee spiked with cheap whiskey thinking . i stand up at the front of your bed pull down the sleeves on my beat up black and white wool sweater squeezing the little red marks on my wrist where I made some mistakes . minds blank and limbs bruised , stomachs full of black coffee and plantains . in the thick smoky fog of your bedsheets we have dug our graves . seattle is just around the corner , i feel excited and nervous, and a little bit cornered . we shave each others heads to escape the heat and take to the streets , and we rise in the late morning on new year ‘ s day to our feast of leftovers and falling back to sleep in the sun in your front yard . i think about how long it ‘ s been since i ‘ ve felt so full and safe and warm , and i ride downtown on my bike all the same with my headphone in — eyehategod — and no brakes . days like these got me smiling so hard it hurts my face ; i ‘ m going to wake up tomorrow , whatever it takes .

• Punk
• diy
• folk pop
• folk punk
• pop punk
• queer folk
• Olympia