Goddess.
Goodness.

My fortunes of fate-filled freedom is riddled
with over-worked words and little bits of truth.

I'm bored.
Overshored.
Freckled, and aloof.

And that should be proof of how I'm feeling.
How it happened it's only how I'm sure
that shouts at my indignants is the best way to get ignored.

Please allow yourself some bed rest for what sort of wicked gang are we.

Seven days have held heaven above my head, they took everything.

They took my robe, staff, and bread.

So instead, instead of feeling sorry and running my self dead after
the cliff had opened her arms for me.

The earth can shake, and I can starve.

Freedom painted on the golden hillside,

when I close my eyes
that's all that I can see.

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.

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.

Cramming little boondoggles along long ladden trails makes missing pain and loss a love; makes it a lot like other efforts pretend to  matter because if the potato fields thought they didn't matter, we would rather have a foxhole shell be a dud, that
Auntie Helper revive a dud.
Wet fire responds with "Thud"
Our life fire lives in mud.

A mud of fear and hate,
with a net that cannot shelter.
Abated by billions sounds great, unless you cannot eat.
Auntie helper puts them to bed.
But, her machines can't cloth you. Nor make socks to clothe your feet.

Cold.
Uncle helper reminds they're not dead.

One time.. I helped my uncle build a bed-shaped casket made for the dead.


Reading red as luck of fortune only made me much more mad.

Because, I bet (even though I'm reckless)


I am not the only one with a

mom

and

dad.

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 dressed in a black tie suit.
And we had situated all of us into a line.

I'd felt blessed with us.
with who we were
because all I knew was insanity.
Blame me for feeling,
but I never knew.

I never showed myself
about life.
and nothing else.
Nothing much.

I bunched up a hitch in my parts.
And I started on how far we should feel.
So I dealt with it...
and that's my deal.

Circled in a porcelain *** was wrought iron wires ripped in spirals.

Spicks and speckeled on the edges of oxidized was
only sticky sap and resin that built a prison of circumstantial evidence.

Penance is paid in pay grades and time off in tropical nations.

Make me believe our hearts should all grieve and pay for the insurance of patients.

I planted two dozen carrot seeds into the ground.

I did it, six months ago.

I took care of them everyday, but I ever found a sprout



I had made me doubt myself.
doubt that I should feel alive.

I doubted living, because my soul didn't matter.

Nothing did.

Nothing mattered.

All that mattered was cash.
No.

Not even that.

All that matter was a face.

All it took was to grace your visage.

And that all you'd ever do.

I knew.

I knew it.

I'm already ready to die.

I won't try.

Just eat it all up.

Eat it all.

I don't care.

Eat it.

Eat it.

Eat it all.

Eat it all.

I've give you 10 years.

But you'll burn your *** off.

Give is 5 months, you won't feel your ears.

Eat. it.
Go.

Eat. It.

God...
Eat. IT.

Try.

Try to be alive.

Eat. Eat ALL of it.

It it.
I will not try.

Good night, molten soggy rock.
I'd never knock on your door
know that we are tracked in a singular
Triangular fate.

You're simple.
So dimpled simple being.

Absurtitiy dragged in the average being.

You've breached the see and now I have to to pretend like I see you on the horizon of peace.

Beware knowers that know who they don't know.

You need praise.
Want want it.
Live on praise in turn.

Average seeks average.

Genius seeks and can **** after anything that differs from the art they want to create.

Fail in creativity from the layman is the creativity of their own.

Making a mountain out of a knife.

Made out of diamond dagger tiger teeth.

I blew up a glue gun in highschool.

One, owned by my chemistry teacher.

Met with high heat, and overclocked ambitions.


So I knew from others

That I was a fool to believe

That I never knew to look in a mirror.

\
I feared I'm the steerer of hate.
Of how I fell.

Of how I'm in charge.
I'm the one to ring the bell.
And make sure that everyone knows.

That everyone knows about everything.

To show that everyone knows about everything
and anything,
and that is always how is goes.

And that just goes to show how quaint, quiet, and simple
everything can and should be.

I use that idea,
I use it everymorning
to wipe the gunk out of my eyes
so I can finally see.

He didn't graduate.
He didn't even match his slacks with his shoes.
He's so old.
His chest hurts and he smells like *****.

Life is a set of stories.
Like a cranberry nicotine bullet lodged into
you
into your heel
into the boot of your shoes.

And now my antics are broadcast on tv like a radium
built barrier against clean air and the understood.

Crispy.

A list maybe...

Crispy air.

Crispy chips.

Crispy toast.

Today I sat my *** upon a grassy spot
And I afforded my soul patience
So it can conjure up a thought

Only problem is
I have a problem listening

I don't hears words of heart
All I hear is nonsense
Din, and things.

But now I have to listen
Because I'm ***-gary

When my forehead starts to glisten
Is when I found the will to be.

Have a haberdasher
would can fix your swollen shoes
in a manner so professional
when we wouldn't have to schmooze...

So...instead the sewer percolates
and chocolate gets hot.

Desires are molded in a mold
with trade secrets, I'd get shot
for talking about how we did it, and how we are so nice.

because sugar is like acid when you accept kindness as your spice.

Still i'm only leaving my legs to show up and show up all the sugar that I see.

i when i need my need insulin i know that youre
much less that what I need.

I tripped over a huge rock yesterday.

What the hell had really happened is kind of a mystery.

But, still I tried to help, and scraped my knees.

Weird.

I felt like I was being a hateful ******.
But, so was she.

Placing hateful showers up into high-held gelded guilds is a perfect way to be,
to make a soul show
patience,
when it came to hate.

So, not knowing how it really felt
to be in living hell
only shows us how far
that we've really fell.

I'd been wordy since words were a thing

I've been unhappy ever after in every song that I sing


I've never had a bitter deal not feel bitter in the least

I've fleeced and choked my hope for rent money in the street.

Happiness and Joy are two very strange things.

It seems like a lot of friends hanging out and telling secrets
at night, giving information that you will never hear.

They steal away and say everything that you thought
you should.
Blood is good, but so is food.
And my mood shouldn't determine what I need
because I bleed for everything and It makes me sick.

This past weekend I had scheduled an afternoon craft class,
this past weekend I did, as a chance to see and say
all sorts of fun stuff with my buddy.

I best buddy I had held in my heart for years,
the sort of meatbag that'll make you think,
but won't make you text.

So, I held fast the next week after classes were cancelled and I never got to see my friend.

So, my week ended and, and my gut was more wrended that I'd planned on.

Funny, moved on as I passes,
through all the gunk caked on my classes,
I was still able to see, and to speak,
so to speak.
so I sung.

Really hard.

I gave hell.

Heart heat held enough
to burn up every crux,
cornerstone breakapart brackets
tacked up and held up
with stickers and shushes.

misses and muffles,

strangers,
and a stifles,
carbohydrates and rifles.

It'll be like sephyr to be happen about the hateful, killing, engagements she had endured in heaven.

Like a worm who isn't happy with the gruel and angst presented by all of the rotten planks, plants and pottery that are built and
help up in high regard, in light of all the molestation and ******
held by higher officials and gods made of grey hair and soft, demon skin.
Skin it would be a sin to hold for my soul, but on the shore of eden and the new world, it'll be a better pedigree than eyes
that can actually see.

How hard must a heart hurt to not feel worth what you are?

How bad must you be, to be able see that you took it too far?

How sad must you feel before you can accept that it's
YOU'RE deal that makes you less happy.

How mad and ****** can you feel about you feel about yourself before you see all you're doing is being a baby?

Not long enough.

But also long enough.

It's been plenty days.

We all have had a living hell and now I have to say:
It's okay, even though it's not.
It'll be alright even if I get shot.
Everyday is fine,
and so are you.
Everything is beautiful,
and so is what you do.

Bleeding in a park bench,
Up you're ***.
Upended fast it the
Wrought-bent, upset,
Tortured-tilted dealing.

Sickened, ******, packed-apart narcissists
had held hate.

And placated nauseous fates.

Saddened.

Dicked apart.

Showed fascism and
hell-soaked ramen noodle dealings.

Really, I don't care.
But I rather have a hope,
than care about improper,
unhopeful, lawyer-made dealings.

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."

Please place me upon a midnight farm
and try to convince me that it isn't the moon that I see through the trees.

Please place me up on the sundown settlers
who were better off not waking up and making up
a ruckus
in the middle of the night.

*******,
****** painted perversions.

It's a simple symptom,
made of soy-based meat, and lumps of super sorry self hatred, held in solitary confinement with lies, and that little bit of **** that hangs off of your hands after you scrub your hands after you take a load.

After you ****.

Slugged off a solid mud-baked toad made of humilation and june bugs.

It *****.

And so do you.

Just dont' eschew how bad you've been,
because You're found out.
And you'll pay for every calorie.

Every ad-spot.
Every sin.
Every media spin that you hope
make you free.

Not even.

You're a cast off,
frozen bug.
Slug.
Salted.
Neutered.
Faulted.
Rotted.
Broken.
Blackened.
­Fractured.
****** up
thing.
You're nothing.
Natta.
Bladda.
Broken.
Stoked in a fire of lies.
Try.
Please.
Try to be a person.

Please.
Know what you lost.

because you're worse than a ****.

Worse than a ****!
It's absurd.
You should be in charge.
But instead you're a childish joke.
For real!

Commander-in-Chief!

You're the ******-at-large.

****

Clippity Cloppity, Clippity Clop
A Rhyme is know to stop.

And so should you, but if you stew.
You would never know when to stop.

It's a heart upon ages
That never assuages
Just how when and should you would be.

So instead you let air
and life
tell you what is what's right.

And in giving so...
now you're less dead.

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.

Spilled out of my eyelids were stakes of ice made cold
Like a list of lovely leaflets that have died and I can't hold
Shifted out of heaven were all my battle bait.
All it took was fear was to learn how our soldiers hate.

Above my bed I hid a bag of things

Never ever stay up as late as me.

Love snags my neck hair late so,

Never wake up

Love let you down, but did it ever let you know

Your hair is growing and you don't need make up

Pick out anything thing you want from what you see

Forever seems like a lot

But it goes faster than you think

I clocked in and rested a bit of work against my knuckles.

Bested,

I stuck a nest of broken bits under the chin of our
prize-winning sinner.


I gurgled and brimmed about happy.

Knacked, I wont be.

Around me, garbles can't see.

It just is.

Just.

Just what WILL BE.

Sugar pillows,

Packed in ****** up straws.

Sugar shame drew

drawers of shaky skeletons.

Melted, into cold.
Selling old freezer burnt bits of hope.

Melted in ice,
Felted in wool,
Tilted in title,
and turned into stool.

I never knew that that night would
play all out like it really would.

But it did,
and so it should.



Predestination thinking can be fleeting
because all it will do is make you ill.

When you die,
no one will care if
coke or pepsi
is what's really REAL.

Still I'm holding on
for the hope that I'll find a willful women.

Not a savior.
Not now. Not then.
But someone who can really love me
and really be my best friend.

God....
How egregious are the lines I've left alive.

Patience,
How neediness is kept...contrived.

It's a hot bed.
That bleeding show a knot them.

And penned.
Fainting retribution.

It's a cold blue chip, in remission.
It's that piece that I am missin'

Only showing how it feels..



So,

AND

So It steals.

It takes away from me........!!!!

Peeled, and held in glorious places.

Held, confunded, and shelved in the sort of spaces

that tend to find the lot.

To find the shot of heavy metals.

It'll hold the hot glue,
I knew how stiff are the sticker spaces?

Cuz I'm not so racist?
I just like jokes and neon scooters?
And what's up with that?!

I welded slugs of over shelter knacker violence.

Trapped.

Black clack boards caked in chalkboard soot.


Moot, black big heads.

Stacked on dead little sticky bodies on overcooked baking racks.

I'm acting as if lack of laurels is never the be and end all
of who is and ever was.

Please...
I'm begging you
dig deep
and let reality sink in.

Let sin and acid rain showers show
everyone everything about how horrible life is.

It's a bitter business to sort out all of our tired terror into
stupid little sections
and it beckons the question of
"Why?"

I felt so old so long ago.

And I'm a lot older than I was then.


I sang my saddest songs when I was happiest.

But I was young.

I had no sense of 'when.'

So, I banged out hours and hours of labor,

and logged away notebooks of independent thought.

"Naught" is not like how I felt.

I searched for a more creamy meaning.

Something much more,

And easy-swallow-snot-knot that doesn't have to fight for a feature
on our front page, caked in anti-anarchy pastry and high-fructose ****-stirrups.

Walking in the witching hour
is better left for those that should.

Schelping in a helping of life with a belly
full of meal should
be understood as awful.

Bellywake.
Incantation should me wake up just for dinner?
I know I'm a sinful being
so seeing me is all you have to
deal with...

There used to be plenty of time
and I would spend it with my friends
and their sisters

Wistful air are all we had on trampolines

Spliced together is our life
scenes of sun-soaked adolescent stages

On a rainy june 15th
with a basket in my hand

I carried my first girlfriend to the promised land
made of pollen, lies, and lillies

It's silly how much
Still silly how much it does

It's not little fifty dollars bills anymore

It's a lot more that I ever that should be

But here it is inside of me, upended in my intestines, and shouting

Kindey dream doom

Soon it'll boom all over

It's paper packets

Over all the olive oil fires\

and it end's in the refreshing wishing well

I remember when I popped a blister
It hurt like hell on Christmas day.

Ripped apart was Mr. Painful
There to teach and make my day.

I never knew how hard it would be to try,
try so hard to get and deflect bullets.
Those gol' dern' democrats.
I don't trust the enactment of the queen of the old west.
In the best state of being,
maybe in five or ten fearful years
we maybe can seen and rebuild our republic.

There's three stacked sticks stuck in my back

That were put there by a little rat

That rat that rat sang songs to me

Now I'm pickled in a vat

because that rat ******* me

I pocked a glass candle holder after I knocked it off the shelf.

I smelt burnt tortillas, and felt like a monster.

I floundered.

I snickered.

I broke a bit off of a bar of KFC gravy.


I'm sorry.
Maybe I'll be good.
Maybe I'll be nice.

Maybe I'll move foward.
Maybe...
Just Maybe...
I hate rice.....

White Rice.

I love vitamins.


Just not white rice.

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.

How did it really happen?
It happened late at night,
while we were serving dinner,
lit by candle light.

Fuzzy smells on frizzy hair
is how I held her first.
I helped hand out tickets,
and she helped me with dessert.

Across the room,
she worked away
and worked her way towards me.

And I loved talking shop,
So I got on my knee.

I helped her with her cravings,
and she put a lid on me
She simmered in the mornings,
while we sang and climbed up trees.

At night, it's late
And life so tragic.
That's when she cursed my life
With her yoga magic.

I had a dear, named Bonnie.

A year more young than me.


I fed her yummy food.
Made her laugh to try and see.

I tried to make her see
What I saw
So she would stay.

But she loved me in a way that would scare my friend away.

She saw, and finally said;

She saw what she'd thought she'd see.

But it meant a lot.

It meant a lot.

that she would act.

that she would be the same the same girl.

After five years.

And that showed me, I'd have to change who I want to be.

Not to see her again one day, because I knew she'd go away.

But she taught what I should strive to be, if I want my best friend to stay.

How fast is it going to feel after that ******* slips at the hilt?

Sharpen your eyes from all the icicles that feel from the sky last winter,

I'm sure you saved them for a rainy day,

They stayed awful sharp in that cooler drooling out dry ice out of corners, out into the air.

I'm sure you feel braves for allaying away each little boil
the burns under your skin

I'm sure if felt great scraping up all the little scabby, ******, barnacles off of your underside on the night you finally decided to die.

I heard seven birds in the morning.

And in their music I heard a warning.

It hurt so bad that I wanted to die, but I tried to live so I held on.



I heard four birds at lunch time.

While I minded my own business

they slithered in my head.

But still I kept them alive for business.


It's risky lips that licked and held on the edges of my love,
Evenstill it's not any blessing from above.
It's luck and it's ******* ridiculous.
Passionbuilt plays made of love and dreams.

It's an easy way out but it seems that Im shot.
I'm not what I should be.
I'll die here.
That's okay.

Unfairness is all I can see.