Once upon a time, when time
is not yet the time I called mine.
That it's seems none among you
didn't have it yet, but we knew.
Thus, we just have the same petals.
I crossed the irritated river rather
than to skip my mother superior,
jumped up to the last rock of ages,
Frontally, I had bitten those arrow's edges
Thus, book's wings are immortal.
I got smelled crazy grass,
saw a crystallized granule,
a beans can pop my lust,
and watched a riot's failure.
those aren't mine but a warning signals.
I saw an abandoned cat who adopt me,
A surrogate flower with an opened gate,
She told me about her petals, silent sea,
wounds from fortifying the book, it made
Her rugged but its a pure story of past trials
I found that i'm just petal without "s".
A rocky river with its rackety drift,
Just a spark frailer than a atomic blitz,
and null, a shoot with a smallest leaf.
How strong she is that she made me feel mortal?
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Those ashes that makes wall ***** white painted
A candle which periled who borrow
that light of the night of mangier
When yesterday incinerates a tomorrow
Numb and I can't fight the fire with fire
A hundred times hotter than the sun
It ravages my skull, my soul's sins
Skin turns like a Blackened yero
which extends to all layers of the skin
O St. John may be it's not time for your festival
This Smokey place smells burnt funeral
houses that unfitted to gift for each
it made the eyes burn and watery
Isn't it about life or pressure cooker
for a new morn and a head with torn
Which full tank of misery and forlorn.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 4:39 AM UTC
A raucous tone of an oldie worm gear
Sound's like a screech that torn ears
Toothed wheel and it revolving spiral, bear
The oodles of blood as the oil of fear.
The products are orderly transmitted diseases
Wrench is limited avast for every pigment of it
And to rely on its asylum, to ceases
are not enough, to cover the dirt or to omit.
Let's stave the stave of reddish fuels!
If life is a wheel and we are its axles,
Our will be done, drawn of our risksha
And let this machine covert chutzpah.
Working of two wheel with sloping square edge,
Is the next wheel with trickery on the ledge.
Our wheel has a will of its spare-part, none Midas touch
But still, this wheel will chase the chaste egg to hutch.
Be the egg of tomorrow, who's snob the chatterbox.
Uproots our machine's cheapskate who's blood are their tax.
Their waste turns to wax from the slave of fox.
It can take away everything outside of our flocks
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
It's me, your mindful mind of self-government.
Do not neglect me at this moment.
It's just me and your own segment
of wondering in every imaginative pigment.
Small slice of my world, it's been a long time
while it goes by and by, we will die.
Let us mind your mind if it's fine
or we carefully mind the root of lie.
I got lots of room, hidden treasures
that makes you think and think
until you became over pressured
through all undefinable things.
I'm your great mind of all feelings
telling that once you don't understand,
a thing? Go, make its own meaning!
For I am with you, anywhere you stand.
I'm all power and hates of godly tales!
Heart is useless without my presence.
Heart is just blood sender, nothing else
and no one can overthrown my bench.
You need me as precious as you guess.
I'll think much morally and legally right
like god is only a word for who's hopeless,
fake and self-pity human in your sight.
I'm your mind and its your fault.
Nothing else could ever help you
once you die with a faith in a cult.
All I've got, it's what you've done through.
Use me to manipulate the others mind.
I have this higher-order thinking skill
to **** their query with pity or be kind.
For I'm a thinker, out of Achilles heel.
It's impossible to live without evil bid.
All meaning of all things was man-made.
Through Flash bang, our sight could out.
the brighter you see, the more you doubt.
Who got more secrets, who's the soul of lie?
The said soul who hides in the light,
or the self-proclaim soul in the dark,
from the east where he spark.
All unbelievable works called miracles,
all unexplained things was seemingly magic,
A mind that hoping for no Battles
but without darkness we won't need a light
See for it and don't just hear for it but,
You don't have to believe on what they've been believed
You mind it if it is true or not
because it not about what they believe is but what I will give.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 3:23 AM UTC