My hand writes when it is sleepy,
Though my pin prickled pal pays me no tithe,
The static sound feel of my arm,
Removes itself from me,
Granting formerly unprecedented agency,
Between my brain and my limb,
With me left the unhappy spectator

Your stream of thought pleases naught,
And swirls your mouth in toilet style,
It spouts your bile through your smile,
Where we all wish it would not

Meticulously making milestones,
Don’t chase me,
Dripping dropping side roads of thoughts,
My train is racing,
Until it's up ended by life,
Hum’or’catastrophe
The beat and time I’ve worked for entirely,
Dies

Well I wrote to thank you,
And the pen times a thousand,
For although gilded words,
Glide on thoughts,
Of yours,
Of mine,
Of stars,
Of trees,
It would not be in physical,
Without the read’or’write’or’thee,
And sure, we moments are vein,
And admire ourselves each other without,
You,
Are certainly good for the ego too.

Writing is very cathartic for me,
In the same way,
Which,
Bleeding is cathartic for plague treatment.
After drenching a page,
I sit,
Corpse-still, Catholic cathedral still,
Feel!
Echoing off my abandoned adorned walls.

Vibrant Vectors,
Bounce Buoyantly,
From castle top,
To dungeon dark,
Their Technicolor angles,
Make angels’,
Wings which,
Provide unique views,
Of the Kusama colored,
Blinking barking lights.

Leave your treasures,
Forget to listen,
To all of your peers and their sayings,
Your cash can’t help you here,

Killing lies,
Till death do us apart,
Killing lies,
No care can be too much,

A field of lies,
Truth mines,
A tragedy,
Serine oblivion,
Pure bubbles of treachery,

Killing lies,
Tonight won’t end ever,
Killing lies,
Get “A”s you’ll do well in life,

Death in jubilation
Of truth’s explanation