donate to ya boy

Friday, August 26, 2011

what type of bliss is this arrogance I piss and steam about
if it wasnt for half hour showers I dont know if id be sober right now
quiet pints tucked away in a straw stapled hut,open butt filled with ammuniton
and lanterns,maps and such a fr was the only way we slept,untucked
reverberations from the nights shook the demons awake we spent all our mind with
and in the stich in time we found our lives were more or less irrelevant
but who says...if you do,your dead
heads splintered and seperated from necks,a terrible way to have a final rest
and to be blessed with so many guesses
I guess each breath becomes a next step
your the eyes of the world,and dont you ever forget that
regret this,a lost tactic
speech backwards and the only habit I have is watching private dancers
cancerous words turn to break neck speeds in which poems are written empty of amphedamines
It hurts to have a heart beat faster than a brain can think
a spouse can take
or better yet broken speech from break neck freaks without a plausable theory
you comin with?

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