(no subject)
the last of the mohicans fought to the death. he struggled with will til he had nothing left.
the blueprints of fevers and viruses fill the minds of believers who all become ill.
my motives are secret, yet still hold a clue to things of the present, the past, and of you.
i twitch and i stutter when i think about things i've undone and turned out. my weakness is color,
i lack all the skill to find a palette empty not filled. my mind races faster as less portraits none. i laugh at the alter til i say i'm done.
i'm tested. i'm tested. is this God's will? when i wake in the morning will i still feel real? hammers and knives jacked in my back; my head splits open with one tiny whack. you think then you shrink to fulfill my lost crack because this is like a drug my dealer can't back.
shoestrings are tied to compasses blowing in magnetic winds. my direction is scattered, lost, cracked at the brim. i've tried to create a world, mock the sims, but they all end up dead and i'm left with my sin.
willow tree bark splays like a fan. God looks down at this poor little man. we all have our peeves and we all give commands. do we follow the lost or are we the lambs?
doomsday casts shadows on my wall. the memories of blight are all i recall.
the last infraction of hope was lost, bitten by the hand that fed me that moss. mold grows in my esophagus. i'm shaking so much i think i might cuss. does anyone even really use that term up north? i'm lost in a world that looks like a purse.
i'm trapped. 3rd generation poet. i feel calling from the homeland but i'm not accepted anywhere. i've forgotten gaelic. i cry. i know in my past most has been lies. i'm glad it's all the truth now. i feel guilty about all the past hell.
maybe not. whores will be whores even after they're shot. these tears are the only feelings i've got. and when they are gone i'll start to rot.
skin is like dirt. crawling with maggots that want to rebirth.
the idiosyncrasies are amazing. they're eating my flesh like starving dead babies. bleeding eye sockets. i'm not this depressed. the things in my head are all just a mess.
i think red. i'm dead. the world's been mislead. no one had any hope past the stead.
stand tight. don't loose formation. the things i've concluded are lack of imagination. i become one with the soil. smoothed out like oil. covered in polluted water on blacktop. the rain comes down but refuses to stop.
free association. i'm concluding it'll end in masturbation of the mind. give me a sign God. i'm tested. i'm tested. i'm cod. fish. what an excellent dish as long as it's poisoned.
i wouldn't want anyone i don't care about to survive. gut the pretty fish with all your dulled up knives. i just sharpened mine. sorry. i'm saving it for the throat of the story.
greed is of money which is the root of all evil but this is only true if money actually has value, but the only value i can't see is heat when it burns. it's more valuable that way, we can take turns.
100 dollar bills. oh the thrill of watching the faces of attorneys. rich people suck and so do their daughters. i've had enough of this slaughter.
conciseness they said. how can i bee concise when inside i'm dead. bleeding among the others. heads out of ground like leaking oil. spilled water boils and leaves an imprint. i'm home alone and nobody visits. the world is lacking something. i'm sure of what it is. they will never find it til they listen to their kids.
the blueprints of fevers and viruses fill the minds of believers who all become ill.
my motives are secret, yet still hold a clue to things of the present, the past, and of you.
i twitch and i stutter when i think about things i've undone and turned out. my weakness is color,
i lack all the skill to find a palette empty not filled. my mind races faster as less portraits none. i laugh at the alter til i say i'm done.
i'm tested. i'm tested. is this God's will? when i wake in the morning will i still feel real? hammers and knives jacked in my back; my head splits open with one tiny whack. you think then you shrink to fulfill my lost crack because this is like a drug my dealer can't back.
shoestrings are tied to compasses blowing in magnetic winds. my direction is scattered, lost, cracked at the brim. i've tried to create a world, mock the sims, but they all end up dead and i'm left with my sin.
willow tree bark splays like a fan. God looks down at this poor little man. we all have our peeves and we all give commands. do we follow the lost or are we the lambs?
doomsday casts shadows on my wall. the memories of blight are all i recall.
the last infraction of hope was lost, bitten by the hand that fed me that moss. mold grows in my esophagus. i'm shaking so much i think i might cuss. does anyone even really use that term up north? i'm lost in a world that looks like a purse.
i'm trapped. 3rd generation poet. i feel calling from the homeland but i'm not accepted anywhere. i've forgotten gaelic. i cry. i know in my past most has been lies. i'm glad it's all the truth now. i feel guilty about all the past hell.
maybe not. whores will be whores even after they're shot. these tears are the only feelings i've got. and when they are gone i'll start to rot.
skin is like dirt. crawling with maggots that want to rebirth.
the idiosyncrasies are amazing. they're eating my flesh like starving dead babies. bleeding eye sockets. i'm not this depressed. the things in my head are all just a mess.
i think red. i'm dead. the world's been mislead. no one had any hope past the stead.
stand tight. don't loose formation. the things i've concluded are lack of imagination. i become one with the soil. smoothed out like oil. covered in polluted water on blacktop. the rain comes down but refuses to stop.
free association. i'm concluding it'll end in masturbation of the mind. give me a sign God. i'm tested. i'm tested. i'm cod. fish. what an excellent dish as long as it's poisoned.
i wouldn't want anyone i don't care about to survive. gut the pretty fish with all your dulled up knives. i just sharpened mine. sorry. i'm saving it for the throat of the story.
greed is of money which is the root of all evil but this is only true if money actually has value, but the only value i can't see is heat when it burns. it's more valuable that way, we can take turns.
100 dollar bills. oh the thrill of watching the faces of attorneys. rich people suck and so do their daughters. i've had enough of this slaughter.
conciseness they said. how can i bee concise when inside i'm dead. bleeding among the others. heads out of ground like leaking oil. spilled water boils and leaves an imprint. i'm home alone and nobody visits. the world is lacking something. i'm sure of what it is. they will never find it til they listen to their kids.