We are the facilitators of our own creation

It’s like I’m ridding off nightmares only to replace them with reality.
These days I’m thinking these days never had so much darkness, we’ve fallen upon money
But we’re broken and heartless
I saw a little girl cry because she didn’t get her toy
I wonder if she knows about Africa and what happens to little boys
Hands chopped of.
We dedicate our lives to getting hard tops off, hard tops down
I have to stop now
I’m need to live in the clouds now
Paper plane pretty please
Ease my mind.
Depression sets in.
Inside I bleed.
Outside I cry. Let go of me.
Fuck this life it’s haunted
I feel like an alien
I feel like everyone’s laughing at me
No one seems to get it
I’ll hang myself like a necklace
Maybe St. Peter can explain why we get so wreckless, disregard for everything, fuck this world like you do your girl against your headrest.