Being A Lady
Being a lady Like Cinderella It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Making conclusions To finished agendas I twitter by booty for the world to see. Oh, please, stranger, look at me, Please follow all my mind’s Desertions Strange to see This lease Signed off my heart To anyone’s Excursions Truth is, I just want a look a note a comment Anything To proof to...
Über - Life
zombie philo-sophia spreading dick gonorrhea causing foot ischemia and cultural diarrhea while the mummy with syphilis acts with optical dissidence to restart photosynthesis as a god-sent revisionist just to brainwash the masses again and the hopeless, torn pessimist turns to the careless expressionist to see through his depression mist to stay silent and coexist but the fearful...
love thy murderer
love thy neighbor turned to fear thy neighbor while my next door neighbor plans to kill his neighbor what a world, to see the light what a place, to feel alright what a constant senseless mess heartache turned man heartless so anybody able to explain this all to us should step up now and say do more than preach do more than speak do more than fear and pray nature raped by...
cocks and cunts for everyone. no heads no faces too illegal to be safe. the mailman brings me new DNA and my life is all molded and formed. I wish I could relate to anyone. volts of electricity flowing through my brain please make me sane.
the maintenance lady takes a toke off the spliff she asks herself if anyone else exists. she combs through her hair and shouts into a phone “even if I wanted to be, I couldn’t be alone”
homophobia’s more like hyper somnia no gathered philo sophia redirected paranoia lack of therapeutica the Universe creates neglected to see past ass to dick’n pussy lickin’ like children trickin’ each other into believing any lie not wond’rin why to never try I’d rather fly. don’t ask me why it should be fuckin’ obvious but shades...
Heart Torn Apart, Blood Smeared Into Art.: i come... →
flawsstitchedwithgoodintentions: i come from a hood where being hooded has nothing to do with weather or rain; where the dust is just a metaphor for the dryness of our lasting pain, only to be used to obscure our lost remains. i’ve been chased by the calls of the wild and the screams of a child; not on to salvation, but away…