Little, battered, melted thinking.
Held deep down in the fry,
is a glob of batter thinking.

Bitty, little, shake-ups.
Held hard, and soaking in a basket.

Tiny little baked goods,
turning stale as time is passing.

Chewy little fractures,
can turn up and **** all truth.

My life is full of *******,
made and kale and Baby Ruths.

Every day a blade of grass doesn't sell it's soul to a ****
is a day that happens at every evening when we need
it most

So long ladle ladled parchment paper packages
can ladle me a bit?

Degraded relegated
after our
horn-held *******-red bed stands
stained again stick wallpaper
and painted like...
over...
all over our
overpulped walls.

i blew into a straw one day
to just feel how cold air felt

i'm out of every space
that should make
a nightmare of the self.

so i'm bidding
all alone
for a piece of heaven

i'm not elevated like
you think i am
i'm a monster and
not an even man

so even when i'm everywhere
even when i breath

i know that i'm a monster
and i know i should live.

Waking up is great,
when you had a nighttime full of dreams.

Sleeping can feel not great,
tho,
when it's bursting at the seams.

I used to sleep,
and dream a lot about a life I should have had.

But now my dreams end up with me shaking,
breaking off slabs of my own cast iron heart.

I know.

It's rusted and torn apart.

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.

Every morning, on a run. a dandelion crossed my path.

I wish I were more smart,
but that's not me.
That's not what I have.

I can lose a homie.
And dip out a little bit.

And show how I'm not smarmy.
To no react to what is it.

Ask me a question.

Ask me all you can.

I just need want you on record.

And prove you are a man.

After my mind had let her go,
I stayed near to frozen water and cracked an egg,

I prayed while I fried my food in that frozen skillet.

I played with the string on my boots,
the boots all rotted out,
I played with them until I was brave enough to shoot out a complaint about how hard our life's had been.

So...
So they got mad and binned us into batch and snatched away our phones.

Bemoaning about out lack of rights is like a baby pooping too hard.

It's not all about you or me.

We're here cause we let down our guard.

Safefy is just safety.
But safety isn't safe.

You are you,
and I am I
cause we don't have the right color in our
face.

Goblets shove all of the leftover grizzled gristle and guts,
Sinew is dry fiber soaked and tied taught.

Hack up with your sharp knife,
shaving diamond dust and uncrusted rusty edges

please pour that toxic oxidized powder into my tea
I want septic shock to leave me without the chance to see.

Set in the muddy stone seemed to be a sort of mortar message.

From what I can tell, It's in the home country's native tongue.
And among our best boys, I'd bet you it'll be a boy of ours.

So what would we do with the stars in the window that hung about all the grease and hell we were dispersed in overnight?

Alright.

It's like this...

I have money.

I'm sorry.

And you're ****.

God, poison hate-crimes have held me in wrapped up pieces.

I shared friends, made more the many people my people.

It's yucky,
but still,
I'm not evil.

And even held an even keel,
showing that I'm still real.

I'm, not were I ever, even people.
Not evil.
Not even.
Still.

I went out on the corner
and bought a bag of chips.

Then out on the road
I shared a swisher with a Mr. Hellhole
and we happened to talk all night.

Bright and early in the morning,
I woke up
with a helluva hangover
that was written in blood
and shoved my into
what I really was.

Call it a natural.

Even though it's not, at all.

It'll be a plagiarized ball of masks and hair.

It'll be what you show your kids,
on your old facebook.

When you thought you were young.
And they'll stare.

At the screen.
And then at you.

You wish you were a better mom.
But all you can do is stare.

And they stare back at you.
Blaming.
Shaming.
And naming you.
The owner.
Of all the bad decisions
you ever did.
And every bad decision you'll ever do.

Wagging in the wind
was a piece of who I was.

Sagging in my legs if a feeling
that buzzes

Fuzziness is fleeting
and it clouds my thought-filled head.

I'd rather eat some nachos
so I don't feel so dead,

Blending! Spending an autumn is a perfectly bled out seam.

Sending! Rending out glory bugs from your favorite stream.

Bending! Glen-like ice patches made of snow.

Ending! Burning crisp, glass ridden grass off of you

To show.

Blood.
Nooses.
Pale golden gooses.

Shedding,
Noxious cedar bedding
ridding us of pest and paupers.

Laying off noxious,
toxic, pickled, ******.

Annexing hate-held fractures feces
is making me think.

Cemented into dead empty was the best of me.

Cremated was an elated hate built race war that I was never meant to be...

Crammed into a noodle *** was a lot of hate filled bits.

But I don't speak for skin and bones.

And Even more..

I'm not all of it.

What kind of leader are you?
What in the hell are you talking about?

What sort of shoes do you let yourself wear?
And what in the world can make you shout
Like you do?

Is it all the blue air in the sky?
and the way fresh dirt smells?

Is it that a chicken nugget
tastes so great
but will never make you well?

My marbles shine...

they sparkle ******* in the corner of the floor.


I had to scrape up all sorts of crooked glass *******, because I had expected early evening company.


Never again.

After works I forked over tip dollars in order to pay for all of the premium services.

Even still, after, I neglected all of my maniac potion recipes.


Instead, I just waited to see
how bouncy and fun fun fun every one might be.

Blossomed,
showed me out of  a gutter.
Spent, showed, muttered.

And bled out of me.

So, spent
unfettered.
Mucked,
and ****** up little bits.

It mattered before I felt so bad,
before I left in my spaceship.

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.

Having a glass of tea after a shower of frosty green grass.

It's only showing how well showers can amass a humble passage.

Never have I fastened how I've happened upon a life like this.

Please grow.

Please show now that plowing weakness into ambition is desperate.

It's blatant.

It'll show how cretins can bleat out hateful rhetoric.

And it's gross.

It makes a conscious heart sick.

So, lemme go.
Lemme show how much hate can glaze over us.
And that
can be enough.

One:
Two, how have we heaved more?

Two:
What's more than failure on the seashore?

Three:
Black women led us to victory

Four:
How sour is the hour of hate before I felt filled up.

Five:
Before, before, begin and after.

Six:
It's nothing. It's just a rapture.

Sold.
Stolen in grassy air.
Hay hell,
smell.
Musty, sharp bales selling me
nutrients.

So, I'm told.
Old rattlesnake skins and apricot spit
is lit on fire while I'm try to defile and remember who I am.

I have to say that I stayed up late last night fastening together
a pipe dream.

I slithered and slipped in allusions, and foreshadowing

And now that it's all finished, I'm gonna plaster
It up on my ceiling just so I can see it everday.

Captured in a facet made of perfect, diamond-cut, faces.

She sure held face, because she really was beautiful.

So, it'd be my duty to know why I'm smeared like this.

*******, I could really be.
And I could hold a candle up to see,
Shine light on what I'm really for.
And crack a solid stick of fighting over head,
for what? I'm not really sure.

I stuck a melted crayon right into my forehead.

And I let it melt into my eyes until my tear ducts bleed.

I even had had the nerve to show my never-face.

I gurgle up an explanation of why my life's a waste.


Even still, I packed my lunch.

Just caffeine and old shoes.
The things that make me love life's color
and love all of it's hues.

Breaking off chips ice,
More brittle than a pack of Juicy fruit left in my coat packet,
In the car the other day, chipping of bits of dry sugar goo.

Making off, with paper slips make of lies and anything
that left me with more paper at the end of the day,
after waiting for hours at the check cashing place.

I shook off my pants, and spot cleaned to give me 48 more hours
until a proper laundry.

I took off from a broken stance I made for myself.
A sturdy, stable footprint pressed in mud,
and left to freeze overnight.

I made off with a lot of stories,
but I left my mouth at my lover's house.
In the corner, with my charger and water bottle.

So, I shaved off every hair on my head,
slept standing up,
and made-believe I was dead.