Fashion.
Razor wire fashion.

Blessed
Brazen-fired blessing

Messed up.
Most, bereft unsure *******.

Fess up.
Make sure we don't lose hope in our unmessing.

I heard it crashing.
Lime-soaked hell
Dripping on a haven
MY Haven.

Made of stone.

It's an iron maiden
Licking off
every mineral

Taking everything
until I'm all alone.

It's all I want to do now.
All I can do is talk.

It's the only power I have,
is to have a time to squawk.

Even still,
let even measure,
make sure that I can be.

Even now,
let cloudy weather,
determine what I can see.

Sitting.
On oak planks.
And splinters sticking in my ***.

Pitted.
Placed on a saucer like a high-class olive.
And I had never learned what mass was.

Still, on seclusion.
Held on a highlight board.
Held up to the limelight of precision.
My work can not be ignored.

But even after I had held it.
Up close and to the light.

My ***.
They can smell it.
I don't care.
They can share it.

They can see
and they can smell
Just all what they can see.

It's nothing.
I've ruined your sight-seeing.
Because all you have is just me.

Listening.
Be by me.
It's all about missing out.

Glisten.
On happy, grassy edges.
Life is good, worth screaming about.

Missed. Missing.
Bliss, blessed life is remiss
of all of hope still held aloft.

****. ******.
******* about all of
the things I hold high and tight.

Hissssss.
Hissing.
Melted.
Messed up.

Gulped.
Gather it all.
Gather it and make sure.
Make sure that's it's enough.

Glassiness is the hell that's
happened to crack my blood-soaked eyes.

And crass presumptions
hold little hell when gumption is what belies

Belies a holy belly,
Held in hell,
but built upon holly and poison ivy stalks.

Still,
I don't talk about green deals
and I don't care about water.

Not long enough.
Not enough to falter.
Not enough to give an ear.
Not even enough to breath.
Not enough to give a shoulder.
To cry on.
Enough for the earth to see.

I've decided to hold my head up high,
Above the noise, and amorous clamor.

And even still,
I'm enamored
by my glamorous, water-mirrored visage.

Hammered, I wished my mission was what 'this is.'

But it isn't.

But it ain't.

And I would be remiss, because I know,
For sure, that
I faint before
the shadows
and faint furrowed brows
of all of who have
had and all
of who have
may had been.