thirty-seven ends tonight, ugly carries on.

oh,
hey, neighbors-
you all know what's up, right?
yeah.
it's my very last day as a thirty-seven year old.
ugh.
that's a thing.
it's not exactly a mellowing process-
more of a yellowing process,
like ancient parchments nobody wants to read.
awwwwww, man.
one well-worn, weathered, withered, wrinkly, world-weary,
worrisome warrior poet...
oh.
don't worry-
i'm still making a mess of things-
and by things,
i mostly mean my face.
i'd have said features,
but,
i mean, c'mon...
staying ugly, forever,
that's how it's gonna be.
check the teleport:

ugh.
there is only the truth,
and that sh!t flippin' hurts, y'all.
under all the multicolored scribbles,
there's plenty of old and busted
i'll stay dope, duders,
but it won't be pretty.
this is how 37 goes out;
never quiet,never soft.....