Proof zebra, or it doesn't matter.
Angel was a wraith, swathed in cheap sheets/ smell rotting, lawnmower. All these commas are ankle biting dogs. Beware the fog lights of the murderous parrots who know too much. I mean, yeah, I know
I am a whole person under the counter with clinking keys, a whole giving person with knees and oakbark hair. And, yes, I give really good head, and yes, I speak well, if a little through my nose, only slipping back to the ****** slang when I'm tired or *****/ and the stars pinched into vertebrae reverberate solidly, compelling an escape into untrue arms, because, why not -
if I'm scarlet and all I see is panfried fish on soft bread paper plated on a banquet table, what's to stop me from asking for a quick whipping back into place?
Nothing, this is all confessional. I'm only sick of paving these roads, I admit to the monster (only me, only _ monstrosity)// I chew liquid from wax bottles; red for the city slicker, blue for the midwesterner, orange for the cowboy, green for the alien, yellow for the gold medal winner eating the food I cook.

Nihilisms brutal, how could you choose to live that way?
Coz everything is futile, life is glorified decay.
We're all dying, and I can't wait....

Each day simulates birth and death and everything between.
Next day is the same **** thing, how many hints did you need?
Cradle to the grave to the cradle to the grave,
Makes plenty of sense to me.

I remember you fondly
Though I probably shouldn't
When you were here
You were trouble
And had more
Than your share of flaws
But now that you're gone
All I remember are your pro's
Not your many con's
Even some that never were
I'm better off without you
But It doesn't feel like that.

Thoughts race inside
My unstoppable mind
As I lie, still as ever
In this bed of mine

Not moving, won't stop,
Can't grab them or drop
them on the floor under my feet
where they belong, I can't compete

I'd love to think of rivers
Or calming peaceful streams
Oh what I'd give to think of flowers
Or the buzzing sound of bees

Inside is a hurricane
Outside is a drizzle
I can't control my hurried mind
But at least it's working well

Oh I shouldn't complain,
Yes my thoughts run all day
Each one deeper than the last
And although I'm led astray
My thoughts tell me more
Than your words ever could
Because I've had a hundred
More thoughts than I should

Oh the thoughts race inside
My unstoppable mind
As I lie, still as ever
In this bed of mine

The deluge came without warning,
too fast for it to seep underground.
So, they broke the soil for a taste of rain
and openly met the flood.
They cinched towards exposed surfaces
only asking for more.
So quickly, it was as if
their bloated bodies were ripped from the soil
and thrown to the sidewalk.
They littered the pathways.
A mass suicide in pink.

WHAT can we say of the night?
The fog night, the moon night, the fog moon night last night?
  
There swept out of the sea a song.
There swept out of the sea-torn white plungers.
There came on the coast wind drive
In the spit of a driven spray,
On the boom of foam and rollers,
The cry of midnight to morning:
  Hoi-a-loa.
  Hoi-a-loa.
  Hoi-a-loa.
  
Who has loved the night more than I have?
Who has loved the fog moon night last night more than I have?
  
Out of the sea that song
  -can I ever forget it?
Out of the sea those plungers
  -can I remember anything else?
Out of the midnight morning cry: Hoi-a-loa:
  -how can I hunt any other songs now?