Bad luck doesn't follow, it goes in the same direction.

Blachetto.  Words that make sense only in cover.
A sub-conscious defence.
One that implies only enemies.
Vicissitude.  Should that word mean something?
It is the mark of suffering.
Freedom, like trying to care about each other,
is an old idea, suited only to the past oppressed.
Failure now only means the same as success,
means nothing to the dead.

Don't bring other people down or I'll bring out my earphones, i swear.
Say you're tired or you're already there.
Selfish for not wanting to be touched,
oblique and opaque streams of consciousness
flowing so determindly and picturesque.

It makes sense, on a road that rolls to nowhere else.
Trellis is a word describing the thing before it is a word.
How counter-absurd.
A third wheel will save in one direction,
but you tilt to the other and rip it off.
What are you doing.  Why should it be a question.
Old skin doesn't know when to give up.
I wonder how long human leather lasts,
wouldn't wear it.

An extrinsic notion stolen from a freak.
Always asking first, everyone wants to be asked first.
to delete any need to ask, an ego to swollen to care.
Die in the shadows of an alley, i don't care,
I'll know you well for eternity in hell.