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Sunny Devo Jun 2013
The grass is greener on the other side,
so they say
I never minded the bright stains
or the sight of road **** remains.

You get older and the stains morph to chains
and rips
and whips and cheap tricks.
Cigarettes and dice
and I'm still learning to tie my kicks.


Years later and the front door's pounding
waking up without recollection--
I ease and tip-toe without sounding
off any alarming
action
that would cause reaction
and astound
forcing the men in suits to over-zealously bound
over the couch towards me
and unrightfully
clap on irons and exit the engrossed hostile environment
I've founded in this unconscious establishment


Now I lie every night
holding an ongoing staring battle with the concrete stone above me
and dream of the tricks
fly kicks
druggy flings
and the bright green stains on my knees.
Sunny Devo Jun 2013
Pumps. pearls. punks. posers.
how can you run around town stealing from self-righteous loners.
The last to get chosen in a neighborhood game of ball.
Why continue to fool yourself, when all along you knew you were destined to fall.
Sunny Devo Jun 2013
What if the waters became too much for its containment.
We have witnessed
what the end result of the bird leaving the cage--
bird so free, falling into oblivion--dying,
not accustomed to the world
outside of years of being contained behind its entrapment,
its curse of a cage.

Work to live, live to work.
What's life without passion?
Why suppress such powerful urges,
when its what will cause us to find something pure,
****** prowess, and the breath of life.

How do you suppress something as other-worldly
and all powerful
as the oceans and streams
of our memories.

You are the only one holding yourself back.
Sunny Devo Jun 2013
never full enough
say that you believe

in the purest of convictions
you see right through me

until i crash and burn into
a cavernous dump

deeper
deeper
into a cavernous comfortable contamination
Sunny Devo Jun 2013
And so I become a fly on your wall
with my blood-stained ledger
the price of my self-loathing,
and curse of my curiosity.

Hear the truth
Trust your lumpy gut instinct
These suits are depressing
But I crave to know of the corruption.

— The End —