Suicide, to be sewer-side.
By the side of the divine who can't find their minds.
But control mine.
I found some old pills of mine.
There's no expiration dates on meds.
I just... I wanted to...
I was being selfish.
But if you've been following my music since 2012, I kinda have a few reasons.
Then Joe died.
Then mom died.
And then, they played Dilla.
Massa keeps me alive.
Baddie keeps me alive.
Diamond keeps me alive.
I wish you StarChasers with SoundCloud accounts would know how personal I take it when I look at your page to retweet you and see you promoting the hell out of your own music.
Like... don't you know who I am?
More often than ever before, my name gets sworn and I feel the zounds.
So how can I recognize God if I have His/Her wounds?
I have felt stigmata.
I've cut my veins.
I've swallowed pills.
I put the gun down the day Dilla died.
I've been embarrassed.
So embarrassed, I leave the house, LOOKING for a fight.
And running from the same fights my body language is looking for.
I am the bane of this planet.
"Only SEGA can save me..."
-Charles Hamilton, "Flawed"
The deeper I go into music, the more psycho I feel myself become.
I feel myself morphing slowly into either a mocha skinned thick female or Jody from Baby Boy.
My body is still a mystery to me.
Thank you Danny for waking me up.
We'll keep the hospital story a mystery.
Or, I'll write a book.
~follow the buzzards~!