Enforced through early cognizance
Until we come to recompense
Serrated lines of quote "logic"
Complicit as an etiquette
Preemptive nondivergence threads
United though we bow our heads
Suspension stasis animus
Alarming lack of sapience
Vendetted waking populace
Intrinsics lost to "evidence"
Orphans to our mother Earth
Regressive inbred immigrants
Staggering seductions ways
Lethargic lecherous hedonist craze
Ambrosia brown to black tar goes
Vivacious love to skanky hoe
Entropy or as that goes
Remorse I say might have some pros
Solemnly a lie you know
Empathy not lost on me
Retracting threats though not my thing
Epiphany perchance to sing
Nocturnal beasts of legend spring
Damnation comes to every fiend
Innocuous solutions seen
Perception slanted serpentine
Impressions sit supplanters quit
The jury rarely gives a shit
Yet here Im relating it
I've slowly fallen, like Satan, from the graces
swapped paces and places, to capture different faces
but the wanderlust on my breath is strong, taste this
It's hard to bond when half the time I'm gone
black hair, curves, four leafed clover thong,
afternoons snoozing and browsing Netflix
flashes of my life till I'm on to the next bit
I can't get no respite, I just might break my next flight
for this chick, hopeless romantic, can't stand it
but lately I've been ghost on this whole scene
mind stolen like my future is a bandit
who's mind set is all about the greed
a fiend for the green presidents that sink further into my dreams
calling my name, telling me it's worth the pain to gain
have pockets on swoll with no shame to get a foothold in the game
thousands would be pocket change but the man in the mirror
doesn't look so set, half stoned, dressed for bed
wishing he could disappear for a bit, maybe never come back
the king of disappearing, yeah he likes the sound of that.
The prussian stache, on the wafty pine,
sticky black snuff, on your stache has dried,
I excuse your tobacco dipping while I climb,
just to sway with the wind,
in your many tiered mustache ride.
As I reach the zenith of my ascent,
a small french stache of upward bent,
offered no more for me to climb,
so downward tickle, of the mustache pine.
When an egoist often uses self-deprecating humor,
perhaps he's exposing himself ~
perhaps he really is isn't an egoist?
Maybe he's just playing the role of an egoist
because he has some other agenda that's not so obvious?
Do you think Hitler or Stalin looked in the mirror and said,
'Get a load of that ridiculous mustache,'
and ordered themselves shot?
Maybe, just maybe ~
there's some 'egoist' somewhere out there on Hello Poetry
with a Master's Degree in Theater,
who looks in the mirror and says to himself,
'Holy shit, I can't fucking believe I pulled this off!'
What could he possibly mean by this?