Cutting the rug through the floor
Feel like compensating for being such a bore
bumping elbows with every neighbor
amazed with your own crazed flavor as they walk out the door
Not sure whether this state is a misguided call for help
or a benign release from social duress for my health
I think past the first 10 minutes I start to put the attentive on edge
The sad part is how bored I feel about the whole thing deep down.
Like I'm trying to thread a needle with a rope, or pierce through a
veil that hasn't opened to my hammering 1000 times before.

Sexually assaulting a woman at a burger king who moves like a crack addict, only in a subtle way. Leading me to believe she's a *******. I press my ***** against her hand on the register counter. She alerts the people here. They call the cops. Everybody I know finds out. *** deprivation... **** culture...

You've got no squeeze on your lower regions and you worry me to death.
I like to think I'm the same about some things.
You look like you smell like the stuff that makes the space between my gut and my heart tingle with numbness and uncontrollable awe.
A sign of that bad luck pleasure sentence I'd of rather avoided for the next 20-infinity odd years, if you'd asked me about it two months ago, alone in dark bleeding rooms I'd tied my head away from.
God does it make me reel and ***** nausea all throughout my nerves, our promise and the death sentence signed on in the small print.
Your uncertain confidence
My overconfident uncertainty
It's outside our bubbles and it seems to make me worry more.
you just pet my head and the smoke and sinuous void slip out and don't rule us anymore.
You make my throat kick out submission to the nonsense of mopping up needles spilt on a playground made up of such wavering lines. I hate lists.

I want the excuse of insanity, oh please.
Broken record, trinket signpost, golden birdcage.
Fey glare into a reflection, power precaused intrinsic to your soul when expressed.
Give me everything I ever wanted without excuse. I'll kiss yours with my own deliverance, by
my salvation you'll be salved.
Don't let them take you away sad puppy girl, you're all I've ever got left.
I hear the faint sound of a soft melody dim, pounding through the halls like a Clam of Military Din.
Don't hear these faulty beams, I'll be good if you stay around. I'll suffer with grace if you don't, just
keep that affection that causes you to smile so wide at my company sometimes.

People are dangerous,
everybody,
to themselves
to things they love
and to everything else.
Not more dangerous than anything else
what I'm getting at is
being alive
is a constant state of being almost dead
most likely there is a number
If you knew enough about everything
you can put to the likelihood of surviving for the next moment
and most likely that number isn't one you will like
one reason being it seems 100% is the only acceptable number

Ego headspace, mindset phaneron life perception sight
the assumptions you operate under to simply get by
or focus on a series of tasks that seem to take
the majority of our lives. building always a beat
of building something without looking or even knowing or
being thoughtful about the thing you are building towards
out of fear of it's massive complexity and incomprehensibility
all of the unknown about it.

Death impudence pointlessness despair terror humility absolute antithesis contradistinction
nihilism gives transparency to the structure
Ephemeral and the mad passion to
work against those things

make the march wobbly to show it's deluded nature

show clear forceful severing ending sounds during counterpoint

You never left me Mononoke. You've grown on me like a tumor. Whenever i run out of things to make me feel something I feed it and it ruins my sense of humor.

What could i do when I get bored without it.
Although, I don't want to seem ungrateful. You gave me a sense of what loneliness is and so far that's the most useful experience I've had. It shows me how to stomach all of this meta cannibalism and how to put something down without feeling so bad.

Most of all there is no practical or abstract advantage either way. Just which ghosts follow you around, and this one is pretty nice when letting your mind run astray

Slurries of hails to the standard rail of self-expectations in the projector that melts back-bone whenever faced with a path over mountain that always professes from the abstraction sinkhole. Emptying that cobbed and worthless orafice seems pretty good lain back. it's during stalkings around the star of an other soul's eyes the motor behind the sighs that cut through the man-made fog is needed in my anxious tissue. It comes now an epic old stone to my skull like an old and overfed dog needs a forest's unmountable cedar amber airholm and rushing pulp thick with the scent of meat.

Violent roses
give me woozes everyday
I'm hammered on my own
something
is always slipping through
a filter of justifications

language misrepresents me
I don't think words that
spread ideas like intrinsic responsibility
are relavent outside of cults of personality
So I'd prefer to say
through a filter of new ideas
of what safe thoughts are in a fear house
reinterpreted

Soft violet soup
gifting a brainhorse with a two by four
or convictions falling
out of atrophy
or perhaps
a lack of neccessity

I don't know
maybe
a letting go of an abusive tack
that pressed you to let go of joy

Oh I don't knoowoh
To find yourself a damaged adult
with a mind aimed at forgetfulness and
forgivefulness

A new rage forms in tandem
with a promise
to a menacing question asked
by those who unfetttered their wallets

but that was ages ago

and now it's time for a letting go
at least that's
what the last night alone begot

but who is past that inside lie
that furthers time

well I can't see anyway

So **** it I'll lose it or die.

Just writing for precedent, or so I keep writing later if precedent works there.
Thinking about metre and it's slow going because all I want to do has already been here or so far off thinking about it gives me a thousand yard stare.

Trapped in myself has become my event horizon. Building cities for my heart out of **** and hair to keep it turned on.

Thinking about old people i know who stopped doing their compulsive creative medium at some point in their lives.
I imagine what stopped them was ease and some contract in blood they signed for their eager calling from about 50 years down the line and a crawling mammal which has hold of their mind.

Then that puts my tiny light in perspective and i forget after tapping my wrist to remember.
One day of that that mystified group of adults given to their fearful balmy impulses and I'll be a member.
I think this on my weaker days.
It makes me more friendly in some ways.
When have i wanted to be that when it comes down to it.
When this meager neglect sentiment ignorant of relative need well aware of the rifts of spirit between those
with and without means. It starts to pick up the toys from floors
while he's sleeping.

I'm forever haunted by a petty precedent based in an experience distracted by lights and sounds.
Unable to express myself truly with this measly stock of depth. So your face in my eyes loses definition in the moment without a tracer pushed out of my mouth to keep it kept.

Cling from change like a tree in a hurricane.
Sometimes it gets to be more than you'd thought
and all your confident friends fly through
your pulverized shelter from it all.

What a change they've made.
I wonder just how revolutionary
they'll be after all the fun is over looking at just how
ugly their faces can get in the rear-view.

The only thing you ever did was desire youth and feel farther away
every year.
What a crime that is.

once you're gone I don't know just how special their over-bright
minds will get after this last over-reaching manipulative
display of how little of the sugar pouring from their eyes and
mouths doesn't turn splenda, **** the lights in their eyes, maybe
give them one last cry, then let them die.

Apart from this last gasp of hooks spewing from one's mouth the
story's over and you might kite a night time flight way past
any we've ever had.

Haven't been since this hole in my chest
Tried to silence the wind with a vest
but I still hear the buzzing of those timeless gears
It still might.. no, maybe not. So I'm still filled with fear

Why am I here plagued by my buzzing ears
all but abandon is allowed, but my heart is searing with it's song
So where am I to go, some aimless throw to put off the sounds
while I'm still crushed by my bounds
it's a pointless question so now I've made up my mind to disappear

Running time overwhelming rhymes shove them in my eyes
Colors bright and dark forget my stark alignment
so I laugh until I've dried up my honest hide
It's still a wave of dead peace outside my basement

Why am I here plagued by my buzzing ears
all but abandon is allowed, but my heart is searing with it's song
So where am I to go, some aimless throw to put off the sounds
while I'm still crushed by my bounds
it's a pointless question so now I've made up my mind to disappear

Cults and jewelry are starting to dissolve.

Fun under duress

Chemical Warfare over those young precocious girls.

Assuming slabs of history for fanboy waste under my nose.

Cause he don't hide his sweat
Cause she don't hide her sweat

I don't want to write but I want to be a writer, regarded and treated with the reverence which is inversely portrayed by a liar.

Some practical purpose under the surface of this romantic veneer.

Rhymes for dimes

Race for impression

Don't identify your neurosis

Big scary life

Things for the sake of themselves (are my favorite?)

And now we've got to settle with the fact that death isn't some glorious encore.

like I've already felt all my youth

Not so ego driven

And a grain of salt

There's still a tree limb hanging above with a dog whining at the road.

So your skin looks dead in that blouse honey but I can't blame you. Baldness under duress sends me swirling away from the action that you sow. I'm really sorry for what we've done and I think I've run out of ideas on how to let you know. It must be exhausting keeping your composition tied to the image of a doll, an oozing thing re-purposed to pose as crystalline overuse. It sits in the growing pool when I kiss your eyes from cold impulse to shut you up because I'm sick with culture.

For Some petty sense of animal wellness

Stuck in your addictions you forgo all that luscious thought. Losing sight of that purging of traditional fear you wont even miss it that shiver in silver water down your spine when she whispered in your ear, cornered in warm salt you fall face first and scream for your life but only the subtle bark on an unwanted friend can react.


A childhood full of hopes that stranger can want from you anything but what they can show.
False wood has a special smell in my head, since all of that basement love.
And its all just part of the warmth in snowy veils overhead when my desire for a life without need surges through my gut. A memory of subtle lavender and small words in big worlds. Sad a hearts acceleration move in different space.
But when I find the peak that's kept me going in the dark with my habits on my ankle the sky might turn away when misconceptions of a mind catch up inversely with a shrinking bough.

Cruder vowel can cut and I'll find myself running the mile backwards through thorns mockingly gathered. I covet this sense you seem to have says you So my solution says ******* but I'll never let the peel roll back from my eyes anywhere but behind your back.

Strangers live in a constant state of fear from one another, tense that the guy across from you might take everything if given a moment to react. So straighten up and flood yourself because there isn't any room for understanding or a kiss of mutuality.

Loneliness and horniness don't make a good mixture.

It's fine to think you might learn something from me as long as i ***** it before too long and we're back in equilibrium to the present.

Tongues and penises.

I may be miserable now but I have hope that life can be like a newborn opening his eyes in the forest for the first time.

Dusty attic scent from past crime or ascent is sordid now dictating response. Salty water knees from slowly branching trees are cut quickly from a mind past caring. Walking justice way can implode a simple desire defining conversational restriction thoughts.

All motivation stands on baseless fantasy to escape the thought that death is a better choice. Such a potent option has to be snuffed, it's a distraction from these goals that blow around in the air like brownian fluff.
All because we can't tell how fast we're losing time if we're sitting on where we are. There's a rift and it drives us apart.
People rush to negate you when you let these thoughts traipse through undiluted with diplomatic fear.
But they follow.
Wherever you are, near the base of your conscience.
Your constant companion and source of compassion.
I just can't seem to swallow anymore time.

Turned to signal lights towards an elusive mindset
Wanting to **** a tempest for a miles jog down godlike rain. Antagonizing no one just a prolapse of all other values simultaneously fighting modernity alighted.

Blank page my *******
Sweet, sweet souls they become,
Once I've taken the pills I'm making.
Sickly, Sickly slashes their neutral tones become,
after a week of withdrawal.
I spent two timeless years trying to escape the failure;
A spotlight drawn pet's legs will drag to me,
One gasp in my direction,
I'm back on the chain in their yard.
Commit myself to the hidden dreams group
And break the last yarn I've left out,
for some love's curious hands.
Some spin must exist to replace it.
Some transference of cold energy placed in my widening gap.
Maybe it'll come with time,
Maybe it won’t exist.
Save an obsessive grip on the pits of my mind.
Don't tell me you love me so much
when it's all just dust;
when I've got the nuts to crush it.
Please let me explain I don't mean what I say
I'm just in a fever dream and can't stop;
Don’t leave me I won't stay.
Peace is just a chemical
Don’t tell me to sway with the sun
like someone's earthen rope come undone.
Cause Pressure's building
the cold unseen majority is turning it's ancient head.
My life would be emptier again without your hallway light on
The warm glow when I unleash a freezing wind and you bear it like fire

Claustrophilia.
Sun and vista, shade and microcosm.
Raised as a pup on a field in view of the silty wilderness
between towers of eerie still-life
took the dream of being pulled there from some child civilization,
just out of earshot, for granted.
On the breach, still making out the patterns of nature in human skin.

Candy breath tastes like death
When it's all you've got anymore
To hide from cold iron faces.
Pitied love seems like stealing
When you're out of maladies
But you're still ******* on the traces.

So you find something smaller than you
To remove the context
Of what your feeders expect
You've stopped becoming *****
So you've got no potential to prove.

It's times like these that you find
That your life is on the line
But you don't seem to care.
A worm on the concrete has a bigger chance to survive
And you know by now that rain can't help
It just rolls off your shoulders.

Types types I hear listin' from your tongue
A shocking defined border
Bubbling like ecstatic vital juices
raining in a non-void of childhood fun

****

Fire truck on the freeway, traffic keeping up
Speeds off left in the unblinking evening musk
Smell of fish wafts,
sickening memories of love once common re-emerge

Stuck

Blaring a block behind
Bearing in I wrap my fingers on the wheel
it takes the corner behind me
the magnified planet up there in the evening cold leers and basks
over one cortisoluted fold

pictures of fake plants
and plastics cups with cheetohs inside.
Yells in a drawl
masking sardonic delight.
Captures something sullen inside me
and slips in under my blankets at night.

Wonders at charms left behind after parents paltry
insecurity of status held them in duress
to purchase it from momentary vendors
in, completely on the joke.

The joke, being the only source of escape.
Just happened to have a glorious *****
underneath in an isolated moment
of soothing promise
he gorges himself on a feast of slip dresses
and hairy knuckles wringing with their own precipitate.

Emptiness, used to live under my bed.
Now serves the safety in my
head.

Rosy dreams of means.
Justification after the fact
Rationalize your failures in a moral safety sack.
Fun's gone down while complacency goes up.
You failed to chase after it graced you.
You failed to keep your nose on the tail.
You failed to open up your life to a modern fairy tale.
You're suborned in to night, possessed by desperate hopes gnawing
at the wreckage. incited by the swelling flesh absorbing it all
like wildfire.

A touch of younger stuff
just rolling off your cuff
Weakens my knees
as through the day
I find myself kneeling.
By the end of our encounter
I'm holding back from begging
and crying in between the lines
of the words I speak.
None of it does any good in the end
as your eyes look down
and beckon my back
to the ceiling
Kiss me old man
tell me I'm worth a glance
and I'll give you the nothing sagging through my fingers
As I pursue
my bones find a lack of a base in my words
so my eyes bleed spat flowers
horror on the floor.

Remind me of goals lost
in days of slowly rotting
finding comfort in an easy hole
I can make friends learn
I made friends learn to see only forgetting
Please
just another ten minutes
of panicked searching for proof
that I am the redemption ****
that could grow
through all the stones
I bragged I could seed

The liar mouse is revealed
and pity stays another hand
so I can find another life to steal

Wet stone cuts
through earth
in waves
of a dark sea rising
to settle back
into streaked moonlight
under stars
and clouds
deep blue outline

Warm skin aches
for the peace
of dangerous things
safely seen
at a distance

***** fonts will follow you down the long path
Smell dry earth and leaves falling back, out of time.
pushy brother wont stop cutting your soles
And a Soulful maiden soothes your chain-wounds
The sun is a double edged sword and burns as it delivers
Cynical of cynicism, eating dirt pacing. without time.
back hurting more than before it's a different ship.
A new origin story of amnesia on the road.

Losing the difference
in the grand design
Without a kiss
from another kind
or the oral tradition
It's been months
since I last looked behind
and felt sorta lucky
Or last imagined myself
in a bed
with a girl
who likes me
Some soft perfume
in your eyesight
fills me up
with some raven desire
to take control of how your time unfolds
My genes are bruise steepers
they're valiant cut keepers
and in my soupy potential
I'll find I've wasted too much time.

Holding onto some grey advice my dear
Giving my time away for some golden years
Filling your moments with the smell of a familiar language
and the beaten horse you figured dead
They show up at your house to remind you
there are still some hounds you left unfed

and it fills your mind with all the crimes
that time still hasn't brought
On occasion you search for a way to explain
there's still a way it can be fought

Racing loss is downhill from the only place that
Faded sense can release you
and oh, it's pivoting towards spent energy
and too clear an ending

and it fills your mind with all the crimes
that time still hasn't brought
On occasion you search for a way to explain
there's still a way it can be fought

That desperate mother's tone you adopt
When you've sat too long to
Entertain a vagabond
and your skeptic barring insight
Falls through my stomach like a stone

A mixture of systems in the world
and in our head
was an emulsion dissolving into our fragile stock
and vicious protraction
So nature without violence is a cruel joke
Born of an early hand from a woman

My lonely nights
cut me deeply
How many times
I've forgotten
The warmest feelings on tap
It gives weight
To living a weightless life

Nobody's voice was ever louder for a lesson worth a ****
And parental omnipotence switches off
With the coldest question you've ever known
So behavior loses reinforcement
and the mind loses any sense of direction
Tasked across a massive field of senseless conception

Seagull on rotting planks, bouy bells ding to fog and driftwood.
A culling fire exploits the docking shire.
Filled with chlorine shards, legs caught in the clap-traps.
Friar palms glisten,
Rage responds with frisson.
Clear view over water.
Feel your arms relax and slip onto your back while the culling fire attacks.
Bulbous deadening brain chimes
As the eyes slide down to your omission crimes.
Leave me alone in my despondent company.
Don't push the matter further let communication fail to nurture.
A warm breeze carries me
like a floating portrait towards unreal scented meats.
I'm here now, alone in the corner,
The greatest intimacy with the static patterns on the carpeted flooring. The king of this corner is the odor of plank seating and flowery detergent in this lonely corridor fluorescent light-bulb poles and old grain floorboards.
Now the returning shards of panic to uncelibate strangers drive me up, far, deep in my own ribcage to something wholly non-organic.
Time to clock-in, time to check out.