Aug 9

weary eyed hipsters stumble and wonder if others wander the streets so bleak as post-intoxicating liquor grips their throats with their crispy eyed dope and melodramatic tropes ramble through their denial of stereotypescalation.
    Angry.
    Screaming.
    Tortured.
    Privileged.
The world did them a crime, stripped them of rhyme and their sandstone blocks of identity ready to be crumbled by the dynamite expression of a cynical drinker of coffee unaware that in the mirror is the same hipster begging for money on the streets. The one who wonders if others wander so bleak.
    Drenched in irony.
    Cardboard shelter of whining ivory and printed barcodes.
    ABlissful tyrony of tabloid hoes in leather skirts who smoke fags without a second grace at the phantoms of the poloroid.
     Shredding vocal chords. Angel cum clean. W1pe off that liquid graffiti, the cross says it so, should not touch the dew of the floor or a curse shall b-bestowed.
     Acceptance of culture. Fuck!poe_
etry?hello&bi-my/english/suite/heart. YOU DEVILS CROW! a raven's snow, bleeding from earlobes and vaginal moles. force feeding miscarriages and then bulimic throws against toilet holes - dripping down chins like chunky waterfalls.
-
---- Who copulated pre-insatiate? and ecstatic with homosexual dollars who sweetened the snatches of sweat dripping down glasses and talkshow trashes broadway masses? Eluding gyzyms of my prismomous orgasms of satirical patterns. /.....Pretentious lanterns roam the skyline of a blistering moon, subverted by the doom and gloom by the desperation of lustfull wombs. They scratch at the square jaws and poufed hair of clones. Who pound
                pound
                     pound the street with treetrunk cocks screaming
:"Angel.cum.clean?"
And: "ANGEL.CUM.CLEAN!"
And:
"CUM.CLEAN.ANGEL!".
Pulsating club music, reminiscent of a rampant connection between two pupils dilating under the influence of spice, rolling the dice with death and life.
-
------{I've seen America with no clothes on, I've seen the road howl all the same.}
/.As ?drunks! begin to splutter their venomous barks of spikes, smokey rooms and coffee eyes are a part of my disguise. .........it's.innate.in.our generation, there's only need for sex to crave. %But really... REALLY? really? have we really got the time?
.
...weary eyed hipsters stumble and wonder if others wander the streets so bleak as post intoxicating liquor grips their throats with their crispy eyed dope and melodramatic tropes ramble through their denial of stereotypescalation.
    Angry.
    Screaming.
    Tortured.
    Privileged.
White.

jdotingham
Written by
jdotingham  My own head
(My own head)   
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