The world
is a stage.
Patiently waiting
for
You.
To take the mic
and be the star
You
are.
Art is the
nuclear bomb
that can
silence those
**** spreaders
&
shut em' up
for good.

Fairy wing's
are
Karma's
curse,
for the
crooked-twins-on the left.

O'
the
dark-side
of the womb.

I had a twin Sister.
Until
she ate all of our food.
So I ,
I ate her.
Instead.

But she got the last laugh.
I got the curse
&
she got a martyrs
v.i.p
pass up to heaven.

Who's the bigger fish now?

The Bad News Bears
may bring a
flash flood
tear storm ,
to the
beach-rockers
by the bay.

But that won't stop them.
They're
just.
stuck in the mud.
Cause some people
had
to
spill their problems
on your
calm beach.

The world is
a
cynical/circular/cycle.

But time doesn't exist.
You'll always be here.
In the web
or out the cocoon.

So smoke a joint
and
check your weave.

Youz actin' a lil'
cray-cray,
Bay-Bay.

Wait,
wait, waiting
tables.
Waiting on my back,
waiting for you.
To come
and take
me to
Love's Bath House.
So we can get clean
together.

After all
love is
a shared feeling
anyways.

I want to go
and bathe,
in a liquid love pool,
cause
the city water
just doesn't feel
clean
anymore.

The world's got a
pistol,
pin pointed
perfectly,
between
my
hazy/hazel
eyes
gaze.

Pull the trigger
or surrender
yourself
*****.

You can't **** what has
already defeated the "life-time"

So,
**** it.
Or,
**** it.

Load it up
aim
& fire,
only burns  
people in formal attire.

Bang.
Bang.
Boom.
Joke's on you
I'm already
d-e-a-d.

You are what you think.
You're a diamond in the rough.
But what you don't know
is that you're worth
more than all the shiny rocks
are
combined.
Then multiplied by
10.

$$$
can't buy you.
If people could be auctioned off,
just know.
You would be the
one that
was so valuable,
no body could even
afford
ti bid on.

We can never be together but,
I wish we could.

Fatal attraction,
will always
grab the
Grim Reaper & his scythes,
attention.
But this time,
dying doesn't
look like,
an eternity of lonely nights. ,

It's
Almost,
well,
actually
it is
a
tempting thought
for a
split-slit
wrist
second.
Given the right causes.

But.

I'm here
in the
Hearse behind
you.
Playing passenger
on the
69-blood-line.
I called shot-gun.

We're way-out
on the highway home.

Only
7
more counties
2
go through.

Til I can see those,
better-places
&
your
pretty, familiar face.