mediocrity is nothing
ice cold
grid patterned wave
unfathomable
and equally squeaky

put me in a box made of pine and lashed with leather boot strings
drip drop drizzle
the smell of rain
is **** on concrete
unkimonolike

moving like one of those
blow up nightmare monsters
whipping wildly at a used car dealership
feeling not unlike the owner’s mustache
which is to say greasy

frankenstein shoes and bubblegum sinuses
texture and 8bit timothy grass
talk to the priest nudge him my way
we’ll share a cup of milk and honey
dont forget to eat the stars like blisters

ice cold
mediocrity is nothing
but my *** hitting the ground
when i slip on a wet rock