Its been so long....
I already cant see your face
We shared a name
You were a partner in crime
And i never snitched
Never disrepected
And u did the same
Ill always miss you
And the times we had
Shootin the ****
Damon....
if i let this part of my life go....
how long until you're just another faded memory
How long before my brain turns dementia on our memories
And i forget everything...

it's all ******* tina turner at this point! or? we need not education... cougar middle-aged women, tiger mums... eating filfth of marine scavangers that ***** are... you wash your mouth, before telling me that certain words are filfth... you stop the oral ***, and let me speak the word, ****! i still prefer the tina turner version of events, rather than the pink floyd reality... where journalists are worse than teachers of the english language in school... mother... *******! condescending half-*****! apologies, for what? the bbq? so why are teachers in schools disrepected? so why should journalist, not be also?

you **** to the left
   (shaking your to the left)
or...
   you **** to the right
  (shaking your empty hand
to the right)
  you push the elevator button
to go up...
  or you push the elevator
button to go down...

   who's winning? who's losing?
the ******* ovaries?

       and it is all about tina turner
right now...
  is it me, but when comparing
english accents, australian
   sounds rather, posh,
when tailored against american?

god, i love that accent...
       canadian?
    because of quebec, it doesn't count
as even remotely english...

but the didgeridoo
           wonga-wonga-****-****?
all i heard is that perth is so far removed
that sydney so further than dziakarta
   (jakarta)...
               tina ******* turner...

a building is burning, a colt comes into
the discussion, the tower-block
   is gushing out suffocating smoke
                     in west london...
     i'm guessing about 1000 people have
been bbq'd...    and all the journalist
keeps saying:
   apologies for the rude language,
oh, i have to apologise for the rude language...
  
                 you ******* kidding me, right?
stop, trying, to, be, my, english, teacher!
   over 1000 people were scortched
in that tower-blow, and you're actually
worried about me using the word ****?!
    you have to be kidding me...
really...
                     and so: the slow death of
20th century media...
                        socialism two-point-oh;
if they're not panicking,
   i really don't know why they're still
a credible journalistic outlet;
i.e. considering themselves as such.

I’ll never show it to you personally but remember what lies in this vessel
The tears of an aura made in constant heckles

The wells behind my eyelids can no longer contain
What they always attempt to maintain
The failing membrane
Who’s only connect is the end game

Now passing by makes me. Feel shame
I Relive trauma in an area. I feel insane

As I lay all I can think about is the act of disappearance
As my tears blur my vision and give me no clearance
See I got lost
But Mostly in my thoughts
Because the endurance of bartering the validation of my emotions has a cost

And with that many things changed
Soon they’ll be a shift when somebody calls my name
Because I can’t answer the same
and anger builds up until we burn in pouring rain

Lately it’s been effortless to cry
My emotions connect quickly as if satly tears were identical to the blue sky
It's also been easier to speak my mind
But sometimes my sight goes blind
And I look back the situations on high
But to be talked to in a way where I feel disrepected I cannot comply

In true I don't appreciate the way people treat me
Forever blissful days until you beat me
Where I felt uneasy
And you treated me like I can't get sleezy

and I'll never hold bad blood again
But after all I've done how could you treat me so poorly then

It always ends up being the ones closest to you
With pain.. When it comes to this ill act like I never knew you


Pt.2

Remember I said it’s hard to show it to you personally if I share all that lies in this vessel..

The reason I retreat
That often looks like defeat
And my plummeting confidence that glued my eyes to the floor like feet

There’s so much I could say to you that would ease any suspicion
The reason I move how I do travels back to being Christian
If I was in a space to show you Lenora I would
Given that’s the entity you want to know and I want you I should
Every moment I think to touch you
And you run through my mind crashing like boulders once sudle
If you had a sneak peek at how I live
When you ask not for dominance but to be assertive
My *** drive all time high
And I only want to look into your eyes
But it seems I’ve been terrified to touch
I know that it deals with my past traumas and such
All the time I want it
Even though it’s not the persona that flaunts it

Most times I sit in silence not because I have nothing to say
But because I spend hella time in my brain
I have so many responses
And many different voices in my conscious
But it’s almost as if I’ve been trained to be silent
And to unlock a true voice you must find it

My mind stumbles around the end game
As if I pass the talking stage
And never make it to a hall of fame
When they claim im some sort of a trophy
But I retreat because people make me feel like there only trying to rope me
in…