The black market love of the United States
for household appliances at a time of city life
is a woman with musical stars to make it glow red and redder.
The dead nymphs that died in the night
and a beautiful and green Africa unites
the new Americans through three days of death
and watery eyes. English, men, the girl,
the best of darkness, who are my brothers,
and blue, the body of John,                    still in the golden color of the Greeks
in the south, in Italy, and the stars in the work,
Lord, Russia.                                         Asia and its friends receive injections
of blood and a prolonged war in the mind
of the war against Germany, a small amount of fires that make the skin change the sea, a head that heats up like a fresh air force dog.
Small and yellow in the center of Germany, the moon eating Latin for the problem of the feet of that year. Russian garden,
naked, free, ****** and golden, police, nature,
July shadow, king, king, wall, Arabia, Arabia.
China, Brazil, Brazil, dogs died at the hands
of Italy asking Dreams to change their mind.
Open to knowledge or to the country of Saudi Arabia;
Playing with children Part of a law of amateur children
is satisfied with the European knowledge of the family of stone.
Read about the park in the lower mountains
of the pain of the chair with the help of a computer robot
is the daughter of problems with coffee' Igor's written football
is easy to remember the security of the voice,
the *** warm Asian modern eel bat stick eel of the year
when the Chinese Museum of standard Chinese poetry,
Almost room for the books of Enos. The black love
of the United States for household appliances in a moment
of city life is a woman with music stars to make her shine
in red and red. The dead nymphs who died at night, ******
and beautiful green ****** and Africa unite
the new Americans through three days of death and watery eyes.

English, men, the girl, the best of darkness,
who are my brothers, ****** turning blue, the body of Juan,
still in the golden color of the Greeks in the south, in Italy,
****** and the stars in the work, Sir, Russia. . . Asian ******
and their friends receive blood shots from ******
and a prolonged war in the mind of the war against Germany,
a small amount of fires that make the skin change the sea,
a head that heats up like a dog of forced aerial;
Small and yellow in the center of Germany, ****** and the moon eat Latin for the problem of their feet of the year.
Russian garden, naked, free, ****** ****** and gilded
police, nature, July, shadow, king, king, wall, Arabia, Arabia.
China, Brazil, Brazil, dogs died at the hands of Italy
asking Dreams to change their mind. Open to knowledge
or to the country of Saudi Arabia. Playing with children;
Part of a law, ****** and amateur children satisfied with the European knowledge of the stone family. Reading about the park
in the lower mountains of the pain of the chair
with the help of a computer robot is the daughter of the problems
with coffee. The football written by Igor is easy to remember,
the security of the voice, the ***, the modern Asian eel, the stick figure,
the stick, the eel. Of the year in which the Chinese Museum of Chinese poetry's standard, Almost space for the book of Enos. The United States
is a black woman with a love of home appliances
in the city from time to shine as the stars in the red,
the red of music. He died in nymphs died one night
on a beautiful green ******* and prostitutes and Africa joined
America for three days of death and watery eyes.

The Englishmen, girl, best of darkness, brothers,
prostitutes and John Lamb in the body, until golden
color of the Greeks to the south of Italy, and the prostitution
starts at work in Russia. . . A long-standing intention
of the German war of wars, the blood of a small number
of blows of their comrades and the fires of the harlots,
to change the skin of the sea, as it were, of Asia,
it heats the air by virtue of the head of a dog.                      The small yellow.
German and American women were prostitutes
to the center of the moon in the question of the year.                     The garden
of Russians, the naked to their children,                        the ****** and of gold, which the prostitutes, they go, the governors,
the nature of the July, the shadow of the king,
the king,                                                  O king, she be a wall, Saudi, Arabia,
China, Brazil, Brazil, asking for a Pharaoh,
The dream hand into the hand of the dogs
died in Italy and to change their minds at rest.
                                        Or open the knowledge of the land of Saudi Arabia.
                                               A child playing with the law and amateur rock; Fornication satisfied the knowledge of the European family.
Reading chair near the park from pain in the lower mountains
with the help of a computer robot
is the daughter of troubled coffee.
That is Igor's football,                           easy to remember voice security,
donkey, modern Asian eel, wood, wood, etc. In the Museum of Chinese songs normalized in a small room in his book, Enos...

Smelly Red Neck

I knew a man who was a smelly red neck,
this poor fellow was always having a wreck.
Two whole teeth and can barely read,
drinks his ***** and smokes his ****.
Blind in one eye, can't see out the other,
his sister is also his mother.
It's a family filled with ******,
born and raised in the southern mid-west.
Twelve toes and eight fingers,
grandma ***** by a gang of *******.
He was mostly white, with a ******* *****,
Daisy Duke calls him Enos.
Hair is red, ***** are blue,
when it comes to words, he knows a few.
Can't drive a car, can't ride a bike,
strongly believes in the Third *****.
Dumber than an old door ****,
never had a ******* job.
The laughing stock of the town,
underwear is always sticky brown.
Has one ear and three *******,
even gets picked on by the cripples.
Ten feet tall, with an IQ of twenty,
gets hard when he sees a penny.
Family was killed in a tractor accident,
there he sat naked in an over-sized cabinet.
Being molested by every perverted predator,
started to crack from all the pressure.
Grabs a gun and goes out shooting,
it's the devils work and he was recruiting.
Police came and shot him dead,
saying **** he had a ******* head.

My art teacher used to say.
“Don’t add the black paint until you’re ready for a finished product”
and I never listened.
So I painted with my black paint
a little too soon,
a little too much,
a little too dark,
a little too passionate,
a little too addicted,
to the night,
I always enjoyed the starry sky.
My art teacher used to say
“Keit, I know that you love her, I see it, you two are my favorite couple”
and I never listened.
So I broke her heart at night
as she gripped her chest
while I did,
as she hid her heart
while I bit,
as she held her tongue
while I kissed,
as she ran from me,
while I chased.
I always enjoyed the lustful parts,
but I miss the gentle parts more.
My art teacher used to say.
“black is dominance,
black is overwhelming,
and black is torture,
but black must be controlled”
but I never listened.
Because it never made much sense, I didn’t make much sense of anything except for her. I tried to make sense out of a human being, my human being. A lover, my lover, and you know what the trust it all about?
People don’t make sense.
Love has no sense of direction.
People are chaotic.
Love is chaos.
People are nature’s kiss,
Love, the lips.
People are timeless.
Love is timed.
She was natural.
I was the ******* disaster.
There is a quote out there that goes,
and you’ll know why people are named after storms, why hurricanes are named after girls and you know what?
She wasn’t any of those things,
I was.
I was the earthquake that
shook her buildings down
and they crashed into her heart;
that explains the cracks.
I was the wildfire that
burnt through her magical forest
and the rabbit lost more time;
that explains Alice in wonderland.
I was the calm eye of the storm that
had one sweet angle and 20 more reasons to **** her over;
my insides said I love you,
but my outsides and I hate you
that explains the obsession,
this hopeless romantic poetry *******.
I was a flood,
and her eyes the land,
her eyes the gates,
her eyes the drowned city.
I was the big bang,
and her soul the many universes
within universes, the many stars
followed by comet showers,
the wishing stars that never came true,
the first time the moon met the sun,
love at first sight, forever separated,
the moon crashing into the sun,
night and dat never being one
until dawn came and twilight clouds
rained her name and my name
was shot across the enos of lightyears
and no one hears my scream in space
except for her an she does care,
but these type of blackholes
**** up everything!
They destroy everything,
a still painting dripping with black paint and I wanted to lover her
and all of this time I thought
that she was the black paint,
but it was me, who was the paint.
And I took all of her light,
a black hope in space
kissing the suns of my theory
one last time,
into the darkness they went
and back to the darkness
that they came from.
And my art teacher used to say
“Don’t add the black paint until you’re ready for the finished product.”
I finally listened.
So I let go of her a few days ago.
I told myself that I needed to stop.
Stop talking to her like she was
the sunset we all adored
and how her eyes meant the world,
and it it meant that she’d wink
butterflies into the pit of my stomach,
I’d die as a self-imploding star.
So I stopped myself from being
more black paint, I crossed out
her face with my own fingers
and kissed her one last time.
My art teacher used to say
“because this black is undoing, you cannot paint over it with white the black is so dense, it’s raw, it’s real it stops all hints of color under it over and over it. Because this is art and art is life, art is poetry and art is love, because art it everything and anything”
So I became the nights she had to sleep alone, so I became the nights I cried to sleep, so I became free from her love and I finally understood my art teacher, I finally understood my ex.
“Black paint is the purest color and lightest of color if used correctly with the right amount of care and tender”
Add a little black with white
and you’ll have grey.
Add a little black with red
and you you’ll have my bleeding heart.
and a little black and blue
and you’ll have her bruised lips.
And a little black with yellow
and you’ll have her eye color.
add a little black to my soul,
and you’ll have lust.
Add a little black to my heart,
and you’ll have her.
And I could swear I head my art teacher say.
“You’ll let go of her one day when you’re ready, you’ll add red aver all of your paintings because they’ll remind you of her lips, it’ll be you favorite color, you’ll ad blue over your roses because red has too much passion, it’s on fire and sometimes we have to appreciate the beauty of weirdness, poetry and art is weird, the best kind, you’ll add pale yellow for her skin tome and you’ll add dark, dark brown near lonely tree trunks because it’ll remind you of her eyes that cried every night because you didn’t know how to love, young kids finding slipped pants unhooked bras more satisfying than adding black paint to solidify a relationship that could’ve been, and you’ll add your last drop, the finishing touch, you’ll be the black paint, and she’ll be the finished product.”
And I finally listened.
I finally listened to art teacher.
So I let you of, baby.
The world is your canvas
and I was the black paint.
His lips your new black paint,
and you, his unfinished product.

These lines on this face extends the heart I want to give freely,
Smothered, patched up, bleeding,
I yearn a maiden's curtain!

Furtively I stair out this prison cell you call a body,
Where's that chalice to dumbfound me? Compound me to her frenetic volition.

Virulent are all mine surroundings, for this blooded box skips beats as a child to playground games, panic attack hysteria!!

Visionary genre, mandatory I seek you, where's thine partisan all true, and a well we would make out of our own wishes..
Lamenting stitches...

Exuberant, I want you to cuddle me close, where we shall have a toast of temperament parallel. Our own heaven, our own malleable kinship..

This seeking soo trucelent, where the diagram is bent, I'm bended in with it..
Forget it I say!!!
Why do I keep looking? Didn't mother tell me ( one shall come to you!)
So wise you are mummy dearest....

I cannot goad one to see me for me,
For beauty is bound in the eye of the beholder.../

The oldest sons count
as patriarchs from Adam
Seth and Enos to Methuselah

Cain is a different story
from a time when there were more people
more women to get married

It is the story of the sacrifice
that was rejected
as if God did not exist

so that Cain lost his faith
and mourned for that
and God was sorry

so He forbade to **** him
and other unbelievers
you shall not **** a human being

Moses chiseled in two stones
which he smashed immediately
to teach the people a lesson

with the seething ******
of 3000 men, the blood sticks
to the priests forever

but they had every right
because God wanted
to do it Himself

There is a book of scripture that talks to each of us
With profound prophecies that speak about our worthiness
Lehi's dream was to guide us along the straight and narrow path
Young Nephi followed the whisperings of the Spirit while in his youth

Jacob said that if we prune, dung, and care for the tree
We can make it back safely to Thee
Though we may be a branch grafted onto that old trunk
Good fruit from us will the Master pluck

Enos, though he went out one day a-hunting
Received a remission of his sins by earnestly praying
After reading these pages, the Lamanite descendants would gain a knowledge of Christ
Looking forward with renewed hope, by the Holy Ghost, they'd be so enticed

Long live King Benjamin
My goodness, what a man
His son, Mosiah, was a prophet and seer
Who had four sons that caused an angel to appear

These four men taught the Lamanites with such great power
Insomuch so, that the Holy Spirit their physical bodies did overpower
Two thousand sixty sons did take up their swords
To defend their people from the wicked Lamanite hordes

Alma the Senior at first was a wicked high priest
Though upon hearing Abinadi speak, his wicked ways immediately ceased
Baptizing his people in the waters of Mormon
He started many people on the path towards salvation

Alma the Younger, was also a wicked and idolatrous person
For which, he suffered for three days and nights till his sins were forgiven
Thereafter, his greatest desire was to have the voice of an angel
Amulek and Zeezrom, were amongst those who heeded Alma's call

Nephi and Lehi, though prisoners, stood within a circle of fire
They wanted all to know about God, this was their desire
The soldiers listened and became believers
They soon became God's spiritual ambassadors

Nephi kneeled upon his garden tower
While beneath him wicked Nephites did gather
He foresaw the workings of the secret band of Kishkumen
That they would bring about the end of this great nation

Samuel the Lamanite, upon the walls of Zarahemla did preach
That Christ would come down to earth and, us, He would teach
Thirty four years after His birth, He did appear
To these, His other sheep, His voice did they hear

To become witnesses, His wounds did they feel
Throughout the land,  all people, these witnesses did tell
Salvation could be had if at Christ's feet they would kneel
Then their wounds would He carefully heal

Almost three hundred years would pass away in peace
Till Mormon saw that the people's faith did decrease
A commandment to make a compilation of sacred records
And write about this nation's wickedness as it spiraled downwards

A final farewell to his people did Mormon give
Hoping that his son, Moroni, this war would outlive
Before everyone was killed there upon Cumora's green hill
All prophecies up till then were entirely fulfilled

Moroni, a final challenge to all
Unto us has he issued this call
If we will but read and pray with real intent
Our lives will this book compliment

The Book of Mormon has special meaning to me
But, its teachings are meant for all, you see
Of prophets, seers, and revelators who lived here so long ago
The truth, by way of the Holy Ghost, upon us will he bestow

So it's quite simple for you and me
If we but follow Moroni's steps to see
If this book testifies that Christ died upon that lonely tree
Then true followers of Christ will each of us be

Written by:
Jason Cheney
September 12, 2022

Are you tired child
Well I am tired beyond imagining
My next break is just beyond the end of all-time compounded by enos multiplied by infinity
And yet still I work on
I am hungry but I have no mouth
I'm thirsty but I have no stomach
And why why do I do all of these dreadful things?
BECAUSE:
I am the end of all beginnings
I am what lies behind every ocean and every sunset
I give birth to worlds and I consume stars
I am what lies behind every ocean
I am the doubt and every lovers heart
I am the stage upon which reality takes place
I am the shadow behind every grain of sand
I am the blackness in the middle of the night but somehow darker than that
I am the madness and every great artists minds
But somehow more incomprehensible than that
What am I?
I am chernobog. Lord of darkness defender of light.