Pickling together a masterpiece to save for after summer.

Sticking together twigs and rocks to undermine makeshift smiles.

Picking apart all sorts of art to find, to make much fun of.

Spitting, on a fire made of hell and hello's, kindness that sired a stainless steel barrel whose wall is caked with woes of all of our unhappy people.

I soaked my head in acid this morning.

And afterward, toked as hard as I could.


I poked a hole in my favourite tarp to let water in so
I had something to couple with my lunch.


I flaked on dinner plans with my favorite guy in the world.

And I stored up all my regret in leftover pickle jars.

And after stacking them
I finally found the devil edging herself on the brim of my seat.

Brazen molten filigree sorries
Shelfed themselves on the edge of a shore made
of stickers and shapely woman.

Before I begin my crayon scrawlings,
I have a question.
A smart one that knows to gnaw on the back of my head...

"How do we know when we're alive?
And how do we know when we're dead?"

I gambled on Bumble to cover over my loneliness.

I've scrambled, and mumbled little nothing into pretty girls.

I scraped about a belly full of happy feelings.

And afterwards I taped a shape of my happiness onto my ceiling.

I gored myself with a peg leg after refusing to leave the bar last night.

I swung around my belly and bled all over my date
Just so she would go away.

Bright, shivered bitter mornings alone allowed me to store
all of my stories in my musty electrical archives.

Still, I held fast after attending my Tai Chi class hosted by that really pretty girl.

I billed my self early in case I outlasted my own ego.

I had to cancel several mornings, then finally withdrew.
'Cause I knew I never could act how I am and see her again.

How silly were you?

How afraid did you act?

I billy clubbed your sugar out of your back,
and I acted liked you were my brother.

But really, you werent.

Sugar you burnt.

And I glowed in a softball saccharin deal.


Still, I'd feel, felt molten stolen molted ****.

I'm sure.

It's the native indian bit.

But I let it all out.
And after I shouted how bad I felt.

But still sticky words held me tight.

And I'm left in the ground.

Without rights.
Without words.
It's okay,
it's absurd.

Just let me go to bed, like it said.
Just let me got to bed. Please. Bed Please.

I bragged about salty craggled bits forged in heaven-hell.

Breighed, knelling, in a door of mud,
is okay.
All night!

Until THUD.

Thrash,
he lit up all of our butter soaked popcorn.

I knew I deserved a day of rays of hope.

But NOPE.

Never.

I'm threw.

I blasted threw what you knew and showed it all on all of our state of the art cameras.

Depedent I should be.
For you to show all of me.

How much I was bad,
and how much you real weren't,
how sinful you've been,
and all the bridges you've burnt.

have business,
and show up,
like it really should be,
have hope that we all hate your less
that the goldenglory.

Take a nap,
take time,
take a dime and make a phonecall,
taken down and transcribed,

take it,
please take it please,
take all of what makes me bad,

so in your face I can breath.

Let me breath your lies,
let me stir up a stick.

I'll pick my better losers
and they'll clog up the thick.

The thick in the stickers.
The wishers awash.

The bleek nickle-dimers,
who've aschewed all begotten
dinner diners.

And alchohol sticker states.

Make me feel really bad for felling
how I do,

then I'll feel hate.