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“I'm in my room, consuming, cyber, and confused. I don't remember the last time I made something Besides blunts, cum, minimum wage, bad grades, a noose. Sometimes I know I'm just twiddling my thumbs in front of a screen, That the songs about the money make me fake feel rich too. That the porn gets weirder, life gets shorter, and I eat shit stew. That these unrealistic characters I play make me feel strong. That I'm screaming at plastic that did nothing wrong. That I'm hurting and escaping and yearning and breaking. That underneath this hole, I may actually have some flair. Sometimes I'd like to leave my room and go see what's out there. Would you like to go with me?” — Karl Kristian Flores
I'm in my room, consuming, cyber, and confused.
I don't remember the last time I made something
Besides blunts, cum, minimum wage, bad grades, a noose.
Sometimes I know I'm just twiddling my thumbs in front of a screen,
That the songs about the money make me fake feel rich too.
That the porn gets weirder, life gets shorter, and I eat shit stew.
That these unrealistic characters I play make me feel strong.
That I'm screaming at plastic that did nothing wrong.
That I'm hurting and escaping and yearning and breaking.
That underneath this hole, I may actually have some flair.
Sometimes I'd like to leave my room and go see what's out there.
Would you like to go with me?