My brains mushy turkey leggings in the freezer out the box and waiting 3 months rotting in the summer suns running lean from the gnawing marks that carve the brittle bones into witches hex crowns
Now we create the sated space for cattle-brain pacers following infinite prompts paved pavements ending in a death that's somehow sooner than intended
Wretched runes of wretched wretches'
Held higher than I've flown remember
Glow down softer touch the ground
In slender light it feeds the being the beacon is centered on seeing receives relieving reloquaries of recollections recieved frequently tieing up the process of feeding.
What now do I need
Asked heathen skull seething from hulk to steeple creep peekin' I scream at these demons with treats and some healing I'm dressed in vermillion not sequence barely a squeel to my zealous request now a feeling.
I'm not that excitable.
I usually dress in work clothes
And wear the next days pair to bed
I just got excused, from life for two weeks in quarantine. Even my probation officer won't
See me now. So this drunken poetry fumble tumble quickly to it's end in 10 minutes since we've met my bedroom surroundings -Atchoo-  nice this time of year I treat the -Atchoo- season with a-h-h-h sense of -Atchoo- respect, mainly because of the perfect -Atchoo- weather. I Hines. .. Honeszszs....
A-Atchkooo. .
Honestly can say that I love this cold weather with my warm heart. I don't get paid leave either. Yay chrismas.