Asa phelps is dead

hey brother can you spare the time? skin and bones that's melting
in a backwards way to grow. out of heart and out of mind, and
kiss me in the rearview when you go... dying at 23, i'm trying
on my apathy with a tired conversation floating in this ether
sky, tried again too many times, and doesn't it get worse...
sit and stare seems like we're running out of dimes. bodies that
we burn as fuel, irreversible decline. pocket lint and turpentine
warm my insides, wash these ashes from my eyes death with an
attitude, i'm putting on my sunday suit tired as a conversation
held one too many times a year or two or three or ten or twenty
more... waiting...