say it again
how you need me
to make your decisions
is that how you see me
as your counsellor?
Not a mate or partner
or as someone who walked
by your side.
Someone you could
confide in
or  just someone, behind
you could hide?
My skirt is certainly
volumous enough
My arms could hold
back a monster tide
with just a bucket
Take my advice
and spit on it
ground it beneath your heel
and yell how I'm not fit
to tell you how
I know you,
Own it
Take the shoe
and make it fit
*I'm over it

All of these human can be nothing but be basic and face it
It's tracing the lines of the facade that's been spliced hundreds of strides and on mauve colors lines placed then
Retraced to the grid full of masterfully hid fingers stagnant and bent tripping placid and flaccid like ***** that are emaciated and crypt ****** and splattered like pavement placed upon pickled waves strafed across walled like cinder blocks half way through baking
Entombed youth encased in the catwalk of toxins
Ensuing and spewing no lines not concrete times and dimed up in baggy a sporadically creased into godsends.
There is no god in the streets he's illegal and should have bend the taxes been spread towards all the youth it's intwined threads. The volumous illusion of writing. Put into cursive this is not my writing ******* stop hacking my account you credophile.
The only way to live is the high life.
It is thing overcoming the tops of woven rugs covered so that beneath there's a heap of root vegetation growth so deep seeded it grows in the sand it is mired in. Below the seep of the sin it's been trampled in. These horses don't have legs. Just *****. To just braid yourself in them.

As our population grows our connection dwindles. Although the planet is evermore volumous, the human to human connection weakens. The media; the social, the printed, while simultaneously bringing updates throughout the world pulls apart basic day to day interactions. The king’s jester has left to become an internet marketer, taking with him the king’s title. The storyteller has become the publicists while leaving the stories to the kings. Power has become realized and is often quick and then lost. The gears have begun spinning and never again will be lost. For what it means to be human shall be hotly debated. For the king and his jester are no longer related. Time will lead to greater equality while simultaneously leading to greater poverty. There is no more dragon, for he has gone, and lost with him must return with dawn. We have reached night, but there will be day. Let us pray to the king, together, let’s pray.