From the vault of my popcorn ceiling the widow was swaying on a strand and striking at her master net, tweaking its barest glint, all to lure death closer to steep it in glue well enough that she can wait now.
,, It happened in my head as I listened to her legs that I would die, if I could only look down and find her sneaking in my palm.
,, I know she is far too beautiful to be waited on like this, to be stranded on a string in the thinned air. I think I make her miserable.
Through each situation, You’re a new person, conformist. Body like a snake, The serpent himself See him? Contorting, twisting, fitting. He’s the Man of the hour. Dripping like solid gold, are his words. The “audience” stands captivated. Almost frozen, I’ve lost my tongue. Unable to speak, I’m no match - For you.
I climbed over the garden wall Into the rich court and down the hall Before I lived in poverty Know I see how to live properly By taking others property And now there is nothing stopping me See I told the rich That humble and poor, was good! And bad was having more than you should. I laughed myself into a stitch. And they left their house so quick! Did I learn lies are the best teacher? Or never trust a preacher? Either way, I showed them all Because I climbed over the garden wall
Morality is pretty tricky. It seems like we constantly redefine it based on all kinds of arbitrary things and yet we are always expected to up hold the highest moral value. How I am suppose to know what is right and wrong much less be a good person. Then again I am a writer so I must be a sociopath!
I dilute the psychosis in a jar, pour it up the drain of insanity's shop and pile them up in mania's bar ****** leaked through the rail, bleeding faces paint him red He beat his wife with a deranged face, they found her with a baby dead
You come a little closer, close your eyes, look into my cackling mind I see legs and ugly faces, stare in the mirror You're so ******* jaded A binge goes by with the addition at your paces in a still position waiting on another ticket, ******* wisdom, ******* visions, ******* liver, spleen, ideal Can You Spare a pain pill It's raining for another elevator while I'm raising But I know something that you don't though
There is a certain devil in my eyes a twinkling trickster who despises all pomp and proper posers who lie to gain the affection of the less informed.
There is a puckish knave who raves to undue the chains of those enslaved by creative play and poetry by active explorations of prose and nobility.
I know such endeavors are things of futility for if they knew my form of Anansi silk spinning spider or my formidable four legged figure of coyote who runs under the Nordic name of Loki,
I am certain they would try to lightning fry me. Instead, I buy some time masking my mind tapping out binary bridges of ones and zeroes with mythic folk and fairytales to educate my elves who have lost their pointed ears and no longer hear the sound of nature’s truth concealed in their very flesh.