Grazing in the hell hills,
I stumbled about a sticky situation.

Mumbling.
Making a mole hill out of ant barracks.

It's true.
I shouldn't stare at the sun.

So, instead
Let us run an artificial operation.

Maybe, let's mention
just how sterile of a horrorshow life showed, and should be what it should be.

Stumbling around...
Still.
Holding still in a coffee shop.

It's not what I hold.
And It's not what I have.
It's not even anchored in my soul,
but still I can NOT stop.

Shivered,
Half hearted heavens had shelved
High, hope-filled tropes.
Showed, in a high glass window.

Feeling.
Felt in a silica ceiling,
made in heaven-held weaves
Showed about in all sorts of
mentions.

Extended ceilings.
Pretended feelings.
Unscrupulous dealings,
Stated,
and held in toxic air.
It's a share of horror.
It's a pair of knowing
More than ever was.
Let it ****.
Let it do what it does.

Held in a concrete roach shell.

Smiling, I had hated charming shaving.

Little, bitty shavings.

Shredded.

And held an inch above my head
when I never knew a knowing rapture.

It'll hold.
It held watertight.
And it'll capture when I'm right.

Held,
in the stillness
Like a lake.
But it's so small.
It's all I have,
and ever needed.
I bled my heart and soul
into the pond across the street.

It's bleak to think that
It never mattered
and I would bet my soul
that it's mind
over matter.

No talk,
no love
Just water
and the blue sky above
just hold your nose
and let no water in
just let me say
whatever should have been.

I dug a deep hole
to hold up a fence post today.

Held up with hardened mud
Was a re-bar
maze of cringes and shudders.

Concrete.
In stolen, steely kindred, killmonger, kinds of
courtship killings.

Let me make sure
that all my heart-spillings
is anything but truth.

Shove off,
and behoove
who should, whenever
they would
make a mind a sinful ocean-built
souls assuaged and sure of notions
held near the hilt
of our poison-bit dagger.

Lagging. And lacking
in age.
It's just a turn.
A turn of the page,
of the story of long-lived life.

Just taste the hesitation
Out of all the kurfuffle
Out of air, we've stuffed
Our own misplacen muffler
Half full of air
and half full of horrorshows.

So, seemingly
Lately,
Steamingly,
As of late.

Make maiden mating hatred.
And hold a hoard of hellhole ears against the hard of hearing.

It's searing molten gold,
the type of metal that showed how
showers of sparks
showed us how hate and hearts can hold us hostage.

Glass.
It's shredded hell.

And it spills on the world.
Spilling on ground.
and smell.

And it's awful.
I hate it.
it makes me sad.
But still.

I would take away your world.