head shoulders knees and hell

all I want right now is pouring rain and something that my Denver lungs cant begin to comprehend. the smoke in the air makes my eyes burn and water and I begin to cry without any actual feeling. I'd shake my fist and damn the Lord for the shitty weather and this metaphorical forest fire of a love letter to the moon, but really, I cant get enough. you think about how sad your life is but its you who's living in it. maybe you're the sad one, hag. I'm sorry for being full of tar and ashes when you cut me open and gut me. sorry for getting my blood on your polished floor. sorry for not being sorry. unhealthy to live but unhealthy to die so where do I run to? who will hold me when the sun explodes? I'm looking for a map where the X marks the storm shelter, because it sure is coming down now. chewing at the dead skin on my fingers, imagining anywhere else but here, but here is what I've always lingered for, so where is the point. no matter where you are, there you are (- some guy). cut corners cut wrists do whatever just don't listen to a word anyone tells you. (so sad). but usually sad = comedian so I guess I'm winning in that department. knock knock (who's there?) gun. (gun who?) all of them. huh, tough crowd. well, keep one eye open when you sleep and make sure to check your floor boards regularly.