I had a bundle of hair I held in the air full of instant noodle powder.

And still I held It towards my heart to fight all the silence.

All the noise as it got louder.


And I had held still.

I was what a good boy was.

A well taken care of soldier.


But.

I mold instead into an iron-built building.
A brown-person shield that still stands!

**** the man and all his agriculture.

It's just a vulture that feeds on flags.

A pig that ****** on nations.


An aggregation of aformentioned mobile folks who will never stoke a fire or feel heaven sent heat.


The beaten. and Absorbed.
The bit of humanity we can't afford.


It'll all go away
It's my duty.
To thank you for the time.

And now all I can do is rhyme to thank you for the truth.

Flickered in a lamp
Was the last light I ever saw.

So it's time to fight
because I'm at my last straw.

We'd never had a night
Or held a monster head.

But instead let's let light
into us.
Into us all.

Let light hold a higher being.

For real!

I'm not worth seeing.
But maybe my ideas might be.

First off...
Who's the chump now?

I know.
I figured if ever, I'd have to show my true self.

I'd held hard.
And even have had a fast to hold on.

But it bit me instead.
and now I'm dead
and I never held
a head in my lap
that said:
"I Love You."

Plastic fact-based witches dug a ditch for me last night.
I never knew. I only thought I'd partied too hard.

Sentenced to a hell-hole, in basal bereavement I showed.
I showed up and store all sorts of goo.

I knew it's not funny.
But still I buried my hell-bunny
And hopped into a hellhole of sinful slop.

I flew against the wind in order to meet Mr. Wonderful this morning.

Had I known all he do was ignore, I might've had a second thought.

It's not that I hate him, or that he hates me.

He just seems so much more happy when I'm not around.

So, today I found him.

In a pile of laundry.

Soaked with **** and remorse.

It's much worse when it's him and not me.

I grabbed a knife.

I knew what I was doing.

It was a knife and sharp as ****.

I weren't not ******' round with it.

It's a deadly weapon, older than you. Older than Jesus.

You know it's true.

But I don't care,

much for me.

Or my tools.

Lucky you.

My knife is dull and not worth much more than catching
the ice cold drool of demons spiking my drink and making me think that I'm just a fool.