fly sweety
your eyes were made for wandering
but please stay homesick
for your bed will always be made
just in case you need some warmth
my fridge will hold your favourite fruits
                             I’ll keep them fresh forever
and according to the gravity of your mood
I have red and white wines to ease the night
countless candles and I’d love to make a bonfire
                           if ever you’re in need of light
for your heart  I’ll be a refuge
even if you flew
out of sight

I'm not really a hipster, but i can make your hips stir.
Not to seem down and *****
It's only four-thirty
But loving is good for you
Through all the things that come with it
Out of all the fruits you can consume
You would be the banana
Because i find you a peeling.

Take my fragile heart
Keep it safe I beg you.
Don't tear it apart.
But love it with care.
It will grow.
I promise.
It will give cover.
From the baking sun.
And the fruits.
Will we enjoy together.

Words that could bring fruits
And words that could bring poison
What kind of poison have I brought to you
They were sugarcoated poisons that sought to be fruits
Kept feeding you on this
However clueless can you be
You've grown fat with all this sugar
You took surprise and anger when you found out
I laughed at how long it took
Now you're dying from the poison
And the fruits lay near rotting

Yellow is what I am
happy is what I make you feel.

Use me, then throw me
and you'll trip by my peel.

I'm healthy, I'm sweet,
If in a hurry, I take seconds to eat.

All on my own, I'm a dish
but with peanut butter, I'm delic.

I'm good for your brain
I'm good for your heart

*There's a reason why monkeys are smart.

Jackal in his church pants,
Bad kid with punk jams,
Cramming nonsense in his conscience,
Skateboarding prophets,
Dividing light into chambers,
Bag of **** for his neighbors,
Turned into a living demon bleeding thru the paper,
Applesauce in the inside,
A coconut shell for the front,
Pineapple knives for the slaughtering,
Right into a strawberry's gut,

He was not a normal scorned, occulting youth,
But the lore of a regretful teen plaguing the afternoons,
Till that strawberry gut cracked his coconut noggin,
And shall he rest in bygones and Hanna-Babara monsters,

Tree bears sweet fruits
Picked at the right time
Enjoyed by many

We know you, and your little dark colors too. A picture book in your purse penned in mustaches on the full faces of your fare. We call you from bed, 8 o' clock in the morning, dog-light you slow wander the Peruvian darkness making jellyfish tentacles with your hands while you feel your way through Salem. We're colder than night and we wake thrice the bits of your day gig. You collapse in a green field of dandelion where thrushes drown you in Brown. We gorge ourselves on mango slivers, pineapple yolks, a half of grapefruit. We know you are close to your end.

On the tops of the cities you call to your lycan friends, the half-sick and muted bray allures them to you, from Bratislava and Mimon, the thoroughfare through the suq. We wait. The foregone untold, the beep beep jug jug swoop sound of the nightingale, in all her dun glory, we wait. Then, as if descending through the moor-lounging silver smoke, the cool stickiness to your fingertips; the fog.

We are there when the blue-less and smoky screen surrounds you, when you shank the auburn Scot hair of the sly fox that stalks, say, a cigarette from your lips. When you take the corners swiftly, gadding the streets. The prize king of vulpicide. You rub its matte fur against your bristly gray beard. And while you lay in your lumps of twelve carat flesh you bleat and you nag. One day you will never come home.