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Friday, June 26, 2015

waste of space

its a cold dead heartbeat

that I feel out here in space

like all of this is a waste

or a way into a case

or vase.

I urn for a living

vivid mimicking

complacent honesty

with hints of


in no way is it ministry

but in every way is it death


this infinite jest

"needle in the hay" plays...this is a deadly spread....hurt

asleep in a hurst.

think I'll cut my losses and hit the sands

my tired hands...blood cursed

infiite blossoms like a blue bonnet

might as well use 'em & toss em like its 2k15 in this dark verse...because it is

"When did you start thinking like a loser"

when I used her so I didnt have to work...

drank myself in a brothel made of granite

three dead fish on a doorstep- the work of hands

like some sort of some sort of planning...not rage

I guess as a planet I collect my sunlight & roll over when I can...stay out of the cage

but lately it seems Ive been floating delicatley

like the mirror is my page

the person I made has my back...

a risky wage...

unlike the snakes in this ever rising grass...common place these days.

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