Everything I say can never be unique
Its all recycled and up-cycled from spit on the street.
Next to the pavement,
underneath
the asphalt,: black, ******, bleak

When I speak
There is nothing new to say.
Combined in a verse or tense
past or present
prosed in a way
obscure to rational thought. Cursed.
It's worse than worsening.

Suessing,
Sprucing up words
that were
left right
on the curb.
Busted,
Rusted
in god's stead, they trusted
dollars and bills.
Dollar bills
encrusted with lies

Idol-I-
zation.
Idol-me-nation.
Idolatry gives life
to puppets. It's really a Toy Story.

I walk on embers made of ice and the skin still melts away.
                 I look through glass to sunshine beasts and still my vision fights decay.



I scream,
I charge,
I draw my sword to fight
the ever,
that endless horde.
                

                                                  But words of steel and wounds unhealed
                                                      will be there tomorrow for me to feel.

For now I lay in silence unbroken and this stands alone on thought filled balloons...

In the morning I'll fight these perilous wars,
one breaching my senses,
one behind closed doors.

But right now I'm grinning
and quite justly sinning
in dwelling on those things my heart branches
towards.