COFFINMOUTH is a magazine that consists of things we like For things we don’t like, go outside of the room you’re currently in and walk down the hall. Take two lefts, then a right. Open the first door you see. What is in the room is what we don’t like. We won’t waste breath talking about it here.
COFFINMOUTH is what happens when you swallow a bomb And then there is nothing left of you but a mess of words and intestines.
COFFINMOUTH is what happiness tastes like Burning orange on the tongue, with a hint of grated skin, wrapped in the scent of pine needles. Licking COFFINMOUTH will remind you of the time you were lost in a new city, and you wanted to stay lost, and never be found again. It will remind you of your mother’s tears the moment you were born, and she was laughing so hard and the light was playing against her hair.
COFFINMOUTH is the dream you forgot last night That dream that you had, of running in the streets and the lamps are shrinking, and you hear the voices of doves lifting up, tilting in the air. That dream where everything was important, and the world was filled with light. COFFINMOUTH is that dream.