damage, in control
wreckage, in control
destruction, in control
PTSD on autopilot
how many passengers are on this plane tonight
looking for refuge in a jungle filled with evils
people smoking, people drinking
people packing heat, people dropping left and right
schools crumbling
infrastructure crumbling
community bonds are severed
damage, in control
wreckage, in control
destruction, in control
heartbreak is the captain of this ship now
how many buoys did it hit
it’s challenging to be organic when everyone around you are carbon copies
it’s challenging to love when all you wanna do is throw shade at everyone
it’s challenging to take control when you never had any to begin with
girl one, gone
girl two, gone
girl three, gone
damage, in control
wreckage, in control
destruction, in control
if i had a dollar for every time i got used
wouldn’t i be richer than Jeff Bezos
if i had a dollar for every time i bought weed
i wouldn’t have to buy so much of it
hurry up and pass that bill
i’m trying to cop from the dispensary
more enemies than friends
more enemies than friends
more enemies than friends
damage, in control
wreckage, in control
destruction, in control
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savage writer
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If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
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