Skinny jeans on the bench press

You burn the candle at both ends

If anyone asks why, then they're not worth your time.

Why am I so out of breath

Club sandwich pressed in north end

Grittled shank on rye

A gunshot at half time.

A duration of the mystic land that I give me

Who was that man?

A wooly picket line

Intestinal red wine

Now it's hard not to suspect

Your lying tell is bated breath

I inhale for suspense

You triggered my mammalian sighing reflex.

So I take everything as a lesson

Something I trained out of myself

With mindless self-indulging confidence

Indulge me in whatever quick release I could muster

Social media, carbohydrates and cannabis, the world was my oyster

And I was the knight by which they duck

But now he's dead, he's gone

I fucking start anew

I'm a developmental beast, wrong version of myself

Sixteen bathrooms

Sixteen bedrooms

Sixteen fridges

64-bit computers

Fifteen of them

Oh how nice it must be

To feel so bored.

I just need to find someone to tell me

I'm just tired.