The world is grey now,
I see through broken eyes.
Mislead and misunderstood in the end,
I don't cry.

I see the injustice,
as I walk through the concrete jungle.
Poor man suffers while rich man prospers,
reaps the reward of a rich uncle.

The world is crying,
and I can hear them all.
Their cries for justice and a land without corruptness,
pierce my ears.

Storm clouds clutter my thoughts,
lightning strikes my unlit brain,
now it sits, aflame,
electricity courses through the tunnels.
I feel the charge,
I shake the strife,
I feel the life,
I feel the need,
to save the world.

I hear it, outside, whistling with menace,
An ill intent exists within,
Behind it, the sordid remains of its last victim,
It cannot be stopped; it is invincible, omnipresent,
T’is the wind, a fell wind,
Think of it, it is to be feared,
But do not join it, corruptness spawns from it.

One may ask, “how did this wind come to be?”
Oh, curious one, t’is a most gruesome tale,
The wind of evil was fed, not created as it is now,
T’was weak, unable to harm a leaf,
It grew strong, feeding on the substance which it was made,
That which human holds in great amounts,
T’is greed, horrible, destructive greed.

Far away, in long long while
We were held in Ecinxile
They tortured us
We screamed and cried
Traitors stole, or so they lied

Corruptness swept through castle grey
Always felt, but seen in haze
Longing for some kind of change
But no hope left among this age

No birds, no trees, no joy it seems
Can fill the void
That sadness leaves
Unactive stages never run
This tremor of death had begun

A lark inside the tallest tree
Keeps my heart under it's wings
Forever on goes your reply
So underneath this tree I lie

This ballad that I sing to you
Will always be fully true
I'm for you, and you for me
In sadness of this melody

For no one knows what life may bring
So all you can do is sing

You sleep they come, you sleep they go. They strike it rich, they take their gold.
They stake your home, you lose your house. Their life may change, you’ll lose it all. Ouchita surplus garbanzo bonanza. Milky white thistle caterpillars encircling State Farm. Around the rosy, redness blooms. First in a scratch, then flooding soon. You they watch, they watch you halved. First, you gave up plastic bags. Now plastic straws, and soon a water tax. The facts may might farriers to make haste with maize, face fate with rays of sun plants, and laughter, goodness stitched into new seeds we need to sew. New pith to chew our speed and seed pods back into. New buckets to hide the tragedies we’ve given into. Peace test, speed test. Time’s up and the beast continues. Some starve heading the tables of ancient feasts, infeasible feats that backroom recording darkness flows to fever grips in crimson-painted streets throw whim through. Chief prisoner that we’ve turned into? Where come we when new winds throw her Earth down, to see this missing blessed ‘being where unshucks from mystery and hide of humans’ rind, polls the throes in wheat to patrol these streets, puh lease don’t let this be the sh*t new DJs push their interdigital civics' symptom just to watch their hips get prompted down.

Who wants to be prompted. Particularly not we. Not now. Not a present. Not of precedent, and certainly not with this incredibly myopic disorderly gag borderer promulgating fact-less el ordeals. Wish these weren’t our ideals? Think again.

Faster than air conditioning units plucked out from under eaves, suspense is just injustice suspect from corruptness. Untouchable blood mensches, Houdini's that’ve come straight down the drain to take The Duchess. Forget smoke relief, screens between players in the first box, and the fellas driving the hearse, box first to fifteen with a given chance to clock down at the top if there’s a draw or otherwise start in at the Bell and pick up as many two or three rounds need to be until one side forgets why it needed to stand up to be put down, so then the Reader’s can connect with a truth mercurial and persistent with which needs to be more regularly achieved. Parts in pieces, or even just pieces in parts. If we don’t start to look at the pieces we’re never gonna figure this all out. We’re never going to make it to the paper on the sidewalk reminding us why we’re wandering around waiting to find a piece of paper to tell us everything, because look left, look right, and then turn around, answers to the questions you seek have never been more available than today.

Upon these words I spit,
Cause if you don't you might get stuck in your throat,
My corrupted, deadly ****,
I'm dieing to die,
Itching to scratch,
Tear out my eyes,
Throw me in with the batch,
These corrupt able little *****,
That think that they can handle me,
Better now bow there heads, for its,
The terrible SUICIDE KING,
But yet you see they call me this,
Because otherwise I'm THE NAMELESS,
But still I'm on a bucket list,
Of things to destroy because of my corruptness,
I have no need for your petty things,
These broken hearts that full the pit,
And all of these destroyed dreams,
That help me say I'm over it,
I'm done with this,
I'm done with that,
No I'm ******,
I'm going to snap,
So back away,
You worthless ****,
Cause I must say,
**** all of it!

What if i told u that i have lost someone vary dear to me!
every day has no ending its a chapter book with endless endings that keep going. this world has so much danger how long can i keep going when war and corruptness spreads like a disease. wild fire that spreads taking the lives of people who cant fight any more! every day has a new change every trust is a simple whit lie so no one suspects the dangers coming a head>>>! what if war broke out would you fight for what the gavernment wont show. surviving any threat is the way friend ships stays. evan if you cant trust the friends who burnt you and ******* you up taking your only thing dear to you.


I ask you what would you do even if it involves fighting death and war and riots all alone


for every person whos lives were lose i place a red rose on the dead for the nature (RIP) what would u do is you had nothing left to even live for. i wouldnt let go i would keep writing my storie in the chapter book that never ends the pen on paper never stops

Time pantomime charades the masquerade to entity acquiescence
Misty wistful wispish shrouds of ephemerally opulent quiescence   
 Evoke the mystic myriad with subliminally subjunctive quintessence  
Enigmatically adrenergic anecdote concatenational analogs the essence

Evocative emulation scenarios ecstatic
Intriguingly intrepid verve fanatic
Exuberant veracious audacity emphatic
  
Endergonically protensive integrations eidetic
Translucent transitive effulgence mimetic
Numinous noumenal ***** aesthetic
 Mnemonic’s nostalgic allusions pathetic
 Opaque obdurate emissions copasetic

Heuristic pantheism paradigm epistemologically metamorphic psychokinesis personification
Probity avaricious semantics inherently indigenous endemics edification
Satiation indulgence intrinsic virilities fertility inherency gratification
Vicarious recalcitrance adumbrates obdurately suborn temerities mortification
Irrefragable felicities tenacious intransigent taubla tapestry rectification

Erudite vexatious obstreperous existentialize venial corruptness
 Diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abruptness
 Psychic regalia panaceas astral projection seductress

you leaving the apartment we’ve rented-
the first place i’ve ever truly called home
ever since the night we both decided to runaway,
from the dead end town that claimed us stuck,
it was why i smoked stick after stick
allowing the nicotine to almost be a substitute
to how you used to fill the voids within my being
and the nebulas obliterating my existence
the sound of your footsteps sounded almost in tune
with a choir offering a song for a funeral
if every time i blew the smoke out
and as it disappears into thin air
i could forget the way you said my name
and how you told me you loved me and tucked me in
each night my nightmares would get the best of me, if only
but your memory is as evident as the corruptness
becoming more present in my lungs
just as i throw another pack out;
i wish i could hate you with such energy,
the kind that makes your body shake to the core
but it’s been my fifth cup of coffee for the day
and the tremors the caffeine give off are doing their best
in reminding me of the giddiness and excitement i got
whenever you’d hold my hand on all those dates ago
it only reminds me of how i still feel the same for you and always have
even during our biggest fights and watching you pack your suitcase
and holding those words back- my pride be ******
while your departure was made and your paraphernalia’s all that’s left, all the while everything’s still yet to sink in

and this,
refusal to get over the world we shared
and the plans that made their way up,
somewhere way up in the air before we could give life to them
and the dreams that somewhere two dreamers are now inhabiting together for the first time

repeatedly being with you in dreams each night
can’t ever compare to the sharpeners and the blades
that once upon a time claimed my wrists and my thighs home,
marking and leaving landmarks as red as the x on a treasure map
neither can lying down on the asphalt with my eyes closed,
taking flight just when a car slams its brakes
just in time before i could feel it run me over
cannot compare to the feeling of once having you but not anymore

how evident it is that my destruction lies within you,
-and even after that you’re still my favorite form of self harm