In An Anxiety Bound Chest of Rapid Breathing and Thumping Brain Tissue, Waz is a writer expressing his frustrations with coping with his imagination.
WAZ: I need a bucket of weed and a pool of beer to drown myself out of this never ending coma I’m enslaved in. When am I gonna wake up from this nightmare? And how the hell am I supposed to spit this shit out into words? HOW? When I have thoughts zipping by the size of magnificent elephants with wings crashing into Gotham City buildings. The craziness creeps up my spine and fondles my ear and I liiiiike the feeling. Too much, too much to write this shit right now…not stoned or high but wish I was…I am pushing back on what appears to be an anxiety bound chest of rapid breathing and thumping brain tissue. Yeah, that’s me. No clarity. No direction. Just FEELINGS. All these feelings racing through my body, each screaming its own little fragile head off, begging me like children whining for an ice-cream cone and all I can say is YES, YES, YES you little bastards…I’m here and I will take care of you all, each and every one of you red faced psychos but you all need to stop crying and start smiling and speak calmly to me because I cannot focus with screaming wild kiddies…
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