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I've got some letters inside of my drawer
that should have been stamped and delivered
One is addressed to my ex
it says I'm the type of kid who can't be lived with
One is addressed to my friends
it says I'm a mess so y'all can't visit
One is addressed to myself
but I don't know what personality or hand to give it
I'm a God damn misfit...mismatched, but never missed much
Mr Right-time-wrong-place with a long face until our lips touch
I don't miss the mistrust, its what got our messages mixed up
Before I rip up your letters let us see if I can tear you away from his clutch
This stuff's a whole other drawer
from a different dresser I'm not ready to address
I went to the west to get my mind off things and I'm already depressed
I give up. Get let down. Down play. Play games. Put on my game face
Face my pharmecudial needs and feed on my medicine, but I don't like the way it tastes
I go place to place without enough money to put a bed under me
So I share my sleeping space with rodents, insects, and dust bunnies
I laugh at the mess I've created for myself until it gets unfunny
But I'm content in the fact that they don't expect respect, sex, love, or trust from me
When I'm hungry I can taste it
I hide in the basement
Check up on me every now and then
Because my mood swings low...and I can feel myself going down again
Falling off is easy. Getting put on takes a bit of ass kissing
I'd rather listen to myself flop on the ground than hear the sound of a mattress spring
I rap and sing and talk and write and often type with 2 fingers
The "hunt and kill" method
I edit one third of a word per second
Your emails sit in my uns
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