In secret places, we don’t fight fair.
And you'll take me by the back of neck, lift me up in paralytic stupor and place me on my bed, put me to sleep and hope that I'll never awake to your plans. It works, I tell you - You'll never see what you've done, but you'll relish in the effects of your little plans. I love it; it sucks me in to the point where I can't breathe anything apart from the sickly sweet thoughts uttered from your defunct mind. I'm infatuated with my destruction, I'm driven by my handicaps to which would eventually destroy all of which I hold dear. Wonderful; the feeling that I get when you throw your bolts and bluster in my direction not to shatter my fleeting shins, but just to trip me up in some corporeal design that you've made deign.
My motivation exists, more that I ever thought it could, I've come out of my shell, I've shed my skin, I'm bigger, prettier and smarter; to me; but that's all that matters; my blatant egotism drives the point of second-bestism to which I'll hold dear until the end of my days. Knock me off my pedestal before I grab your hand and hoist you to see the view from the top - It's elegant, the sights and sounds of buildings of human design crash down around your pretty little feet to which I'd love to see.
Something about the skinless structure, the form of biology to which you fit so perfectly, I'll be the one; not so much of ownership, but of distant appraisal; for not the purpose of a feeling, but for the feeling of a purpose; stuffed down in adavistic galore, what's more than a Summer spent, is a Winter earned. You already know what I think I am, I already think what I know I am; the situation depletes the resources to which I'd keep in the vault of self; only to let those who can crack it steal.
My little thieves, taking from me what I truly need to keep; yet give away at the drop of a hat; requiring they have enough drive to aquire. The speaker cranks; I'm walking on a thin line, losing balance, and the rest is history; it's taken from there, blown out of proportion, killed off by the eloquent poachers who feel the dire need to take potshots of a mind defiled. I wouldn't go on safari any other time; lest I stand next to that bastard gazelle for the purpose of making my way to the target zone, painted so lovingly on my chest by the one's before it.
I'll preach, I'll sweat, I'll bleed; it's all the same, fluidous transions of hooks, verbosity extenuates it's hand of faith into the face of the mentor; he shudders as he relents from the source of what could potentially be "his" downfall, unleashing all of which one learned and gained unto a fickle personality created by a cretin created from less than flesh and bone, rather than self-destructive motions of a deflowered mind of mutilated synapses.
The memory lost is the prowess gained, the fingers keyed are the thoughts thrown out like so much trash to which one would gain by others; if not to hoard, then why would one be at such a position? Taking so much on board must make the shoulders of the Iron Titan ache with thoughts far less than compassion, but far more than abject amusement. It's a triad of conflicting masters, destroying each other for the prowess of the throne; hopefully they don't fucking kill each other.
*swallows*
I Have Awoken; after so many years; and yet, one foot is out the door.
With every breath I wish your body to break.
My motivation exists, more that I ever thought it could, I've come out of my shell, I've shed my skin, I'm bigger, prettier and smarter; to me; but that's all that matters; my blatant egotism drives the point of second-bestism to which I'll hold dear until the end of my days. Knock me off my pedestal before I grab your hand and hoist you to see the view from the top - It's elegant, the sights and sounds of buildings of human design crash down around your pretty little feet to which I'd love to see.
Something about the skinless structure, the form of biology to which you fit so perfectly, I'll be the one; not so much of ownership, but of distant appraisal; for not the purpose of a feeling, but for the feeling of a purpose; stuffed down in adavistic galore, what's more than a Summer spent, is a Winter earned. You already know what I think I am, I already think what I know I am; the situation depletes the resources to which I'd keep in the vault of self; only to let those who can crack it steal.
My little thieves, taking from me what I truly need to keep; yet give away at the drop of a hat; requiring they have enough drive to aquire. The speaker cranks; I'm walking on a thin line, losing balance, and the rest is history; it's taken from there, blown out of proportion, killed off by the eloquent poachers who feel the dire need to take potshots of a mind defiled. I wouldn't go on safari any other time; lest I stand next to that bastard gazelle for the purpose of making my way to the target zone, painted so lovingly on my chest by the one's before it.
I'll preach, I'll sweat, I'll bleed; it's all the same, fluidous transions of hooks, verbosity extenuates it's hand of faith into the face of the mentor; he shudders as he relents from the source of what could potentially be "his" downfall, unleashing all of which one learned and gained unto a fickle personality created by a cretin created from less than flesh and bone, rather than self-destructive motions of a deflowered mind of mutilated synapses.
The memory lost is the prowess gained, the fingers keyed are the thoughts thrown out like so much trash to which one would gain by others; if not to hoard, then why would one be at such a position? Taking so much on board must make the shoulders of the Iron Titan ache with thoughts far less than compassion, but far more than abject amusement. It's a triad of conflicting masters, destroying each other for the prowess of the throne; hopefully they don't fucking kill each other.
*swallows*
I Have Awoken; after so many years; and yet, one foot is out the door.
With every breath I wish your body to break.