severed heads on an island of doubts
a stern look of pouts
(most topical creams couldn't rub it out)
I think this means Im filled with mouths
endless bouts I wrestle with now
always open / always feeding
miracles in motion
& yet it feels like Im teething.
seething for another way of being
don't stop believing..."Journey" plays softly over the evening
"now what the fuck was I teaching"
a flash to fourth grade...the first time I learned how to be brave.
I mean it has to be here...some...where?
if not who would the religons save
how would we know that were laying waste to our tastes?
this city feels like a cave
mistakes made on maiden voyages of space
"I'll have my eggs over easy" ( I mean what the fuck does that even mean?)
back again to the screen...
moments wasted as finger tips clip their heels
Ill be home before I can even feel
until then I'll just cheel...its like each of these stories are reems.
why even play
when the opponent isnt setting screens
just another victory from the triangle offense