Isn't it funny how you can burn down your own house from the small ember of your last cigarette. How your forgetful toss of your most uncharming habit into the untrimmed brush of your houses surrounding can ruin everything. Your careless toss of the twice puffed cigarette banished in disgust and hopes of renewal and yet your world comes brutally and disgustingly crashing down. It makes you wonder if it's ever truly worth quiting our flawed vices. perhaps our caous and addictions are more us than we think they are and without them we will burn down our entire house

You are not invited
to the party that is my body.
The house keys pointing through my knuckles have ripped through that invitation, it doesn't exist.

You are not welcome
inside my front door, over the threshold of my palace.
The light of the screen as my thumb hovers over the last 9 of the only phone number I can remember is your indicator that you are just not my type.

Do not bring your testosterone fueled ego, or your uncharming paws or your self righteousness to my party.

You are never going to be on my guest list.

The Zombie apocryphal that though there is no glitch to
presume a monger of disease, the play on terms for
shield and sword have arcing facts that drugs and
slipshod characters are applied.
Avalon your saints have soup of slanderous
punishment beset for the assuming deformity of these
******* rugs.
We've walked upon the shallow grave; but none so concerned
as the mighty caress of defiled weathered Zombie fleshes.
Angst a pitiless flaunting that bore filthy teeth,
as sharded deathly axes, make grinding with defacto skivy
of a clawing weapon.
And the prosperous call to human tears in the plump
juicy prey, shams on the syntax of writ, for a Zombie
lunch and evening snack from a romping day.
A ***** in the fence of those disastrous metaphors for
making death, a chemical attribute the nuclear winter
isn't uncharming of shores with sluffs, that as death
barges, can take to the sea.
These Demons, begotten, our Zombie creators; infuriate
a place for safety not to hold away the needs of the
greater monetary disarming.
The path is a child's free road, and friends and fiends
soon can only make it a passage to Hell's domain.
How destructive we shall consume of our ways; the blood
dribulets floating as hazy morning complimented pond
lilies until,... scratch the rebirth houses, of which we can
do no other than, be the undead who live.
Flooding sun prancing awakening miracles are these
killing field's seductions for executions that only the
unholy fighter Zombies dare to defy, for the
transformation calamity warning at us does not apply.
Aching rotting foul intrepid... what subtle needs the
cosmic school of thought; that Idju of the corpses
shanked about, for a slaughterhouse, is thunderous yet
almost not, a good feeling.
The tracing slashes go skitch skatch and felons of the
theory of life's rivers of blood: they are that
aforementioned not that of which was once which there
they stood.
Amidst a plastered riot, screaming dove tails.
Femmes with fancy attractions and ingots.
The shoulders are a girth of armies that should break
down any visage of hope as humans counter the terror
neither nor... the one time patterns of flesh are Zombie
thoughts now of a canvas painted with; as death's own
mutiny; the prey afore!