Sole cover art: a picture of a tissue box
by Rotaris, Dylan Hand
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[Dylan Hand]
I’m laying lazy on the couch bitch
Im out sick so I’m not changing my outfit
My head’s pounding, but I don’t care ‘cause I’m gonna stare at the TV
I won’t dare to do anything it’s true
I’m only getting up to get some food
The only muscle that I’ll move is in my jaw to chew
I’m hella comfortable, chillin’ in a bundled wool blanket
I just stuffed a full muffin my fucking skull
I’m already feeling better, better than being at work
And bending under the pressure
So now I love being under the weather
I do whatever I want nobody’s coming to get you
I watch another Netflix spеcial
Some shit on how to be successful (don’t lеt your dreams be dreams)
But I’m like hell no, so I change it and find something brainless
Some blind entertainment my mind can keep pace with
In this state I’m in I need to bring it back to the basics
Why’s it feel so great when I stay in?
This shit feels like a paid vacation

Hey, I’m a soul that’s carrying a corpse
Haven’t showered in a week, but m’hands smell of soap
My head is in a vice, feel the tightening of bolts
They say life is real sweet, but all I taste is salt
For now I bow down to infection
Treat it as a point of inflection
I cop whips by viral masters
My throats been struck with forty lashes
At least, I grumble with gnashed teeth
My eyes hurt like I fell onto a glass heap
All I have for comfort is some tea and bad sleep
Nose keeps running like them NY city taxis
I am woe, all my plans are all cancelled
Head in bucket like I’m rocking those Kangols
Each squeak or noise sounds like Lambos
Mood takes on the form of brambles
So I slide into backlit cuneiforms
Escape to lands of spam and damn unicorns
Disregard the bin of used tissues
As the reaper pleads “let me kiss you”