As feet pitter patters on the pavement of cities, the matinee of everyday life.
Flowing rivers of cars carve the ecosystem of our mother.
A cleaver to the spine.
As statues lost and made of stone stand in lines of waiting, do nothing but insanity.
Waves crash in industrial machines on the edges of invisibility.
A cleaver to the spine.
Burgers of Tutt sauce and a rotten bird poop overflowing boot floating down the river of Jasper in Neverwinter. The blasphemy breath of Ted Sanders butt humping a midget version of the Ultimate Warrior, whispers in the shadows of Misty Gardens. The Secret force of burnt cop melts crust over the mouth of the old tart buried waist deep in the grounds of holding, Entanglement of Blard. Hold fast you gravy captain, the Grifter spins shanty on the tips of ghetto hills in the village of Gypsies and Rufustards
The sky falls around me like splinters of glass from stained silhouettes of the gods.
I am a worthless tool of someone’s incorrect hypothesis, left over from a test gone amiss.
Used has-been that fills holes of void but accomplishes nothing but self pity and remorse. A confused emotion swollen in the throat of a heart sickened man.
A butterfly with no color in the pit of my gut flutters away like she does.
How about I take an Alf puppet, buy it some Mr.T camo shorts, dress it up in gold and shave its cranium a mohawk. Put some strawberry Nerds all over its body with super glue. What a godlike stature this four foot tall cotton and polyester figure is, almost reminds me of Aphrodite.
His body is stumpy with dumpy legs and a lengthy torso. He has six foot long arms and is only four foot tall. His hair is in patches and all over his body, a carrot color orange. His skin is a yellow paste hue with scars and scabs giving texture. His face has a large brow, large fat lips that stretch from ear to ear. His eyes are black and dead, placed in the middle of his face not far apart. His left ear is large and flaps when he moves; the other has been burnt off leaving only a crusty black hole on the side of his skull, laced with short grey hairs. The teeth in his mouth are fang like, spaced far apart with contaminated gew in between. The color of stains on his teeth promotes the idea of feasting on raw flesh, ravenous.
At least that’s how I see it!
I must destroy the gods!
Chain some bricks to its feet and fling it off a freeway overpass, hopefully killing Richard Simmons in some freak lucky accident. Who woulda thought that Richard Simmons was on the west side highway getting a blowjob from a west village fifteen year old cross dresser? Well now the mushrooms had hit, time to run, something’s got to be wrong here, anything. It must have hit before, why else would I have done that with that damn puppet from some bad 80’s show? I will then run to the Hudson River, look at my reflection in the water wondering why a paper cut out of myself would dance on glass. From pure curiosity I will lunge for this two dimensional figure in a joy filled exploration of mind expansion. Holyshit sucking I wasn’t thirsty at all Batman, where did this orange juice come from, who are these monsters of forbidding pressing on my chest? Could Leviathan be unhappy with the sacrifice of the god I had created prior? The slime of the river is a sudden surprise, and the paper cutout dodged my jump and sent me into a trap, can I swim in this gunk?
The world laughed at me when I was born, shook, flustered me.
Took my plastic body, they heaved my head off pouring my soul down a drain.
Spew down my throat and then screwed my head on stripping my threads, destroying my only hope.
Taking my insides for needless forgotten toys they tossed aside when ideal.
I have become an uneasy gew that is stale and stagnant.
Alone.
Flowing rivers of cars carve the ecosystem of our mother.
A cleaver to the spine.
As statues lost and made of stone stand in lines of waiting, do nothing but insanity.
Waves crash in industrial machines on the edges of invisibility.
A cleaver to the spine.
Burgers of Tutt sauce and a rotten bird poop overflowing boot floating down the river of Jasper in Neverwinter. The blasphemy breath of Ted Sanders butt humping a midget version of the Ultimate Warrior, whispers in the shadows of Misty Gardens. The Secret force of burnt cop melts crust over the mouth of the old tart buried waist deep in the grounds of holding, Entanglement of Blard. Hold fast you gravy captain, the Grifter spins shanty on the tips of ghetto hills in the village of Gypsies and Rufustards
The sky falls around me like splinters of glass from stained silhouettes of the gods.
I am a worthless tool of someone’s incorrect hypothesis, left over from a test gone amiss.
Used has-been that fills holes of void but accomplishes nothing but self pity and remorse. A confused emotion swollen in the throat of a heart sickened man.
A butterfly with no color in the pit of my gut flutters away like she does.
How about I take an Alf puppet, buy it some Mr.T camo shorts, dress it up in gold and shave its cranium a mohawk. Put some strawberry Nerds all over its body with super glue. What a godlike stature this four foot tall cotton and polyester figure is, almost reminds me of Aphrodite.
His body is stumpy with dumpy legs and a lengthy torso. He has six foot long arms and is only four foot tall. His hair is in patches and all over his body, a carrot color orange. His skin is a yellow paste hue with scars and scabs giving texture. His face has a large brow, large fat lips that stretch from ear to ear. His eyes are black and dead, placed in the middle of his face not far apart. His left ear is large and flaps when he moves; the other has been burnt off leaving only a crusty black hole on the side of his skull, laced with short grey hairs. The teeth in his mouth are fang like, spaced far apart with contaminated gew in between. The color of stains on his teeth promotes the idea of feasting on raw flesh, ravenous.
At least that’s how I see it!
I must destroy the gods!
Chain some bricks to its feet and fling it off a freeway overpass, hopefully killing Richard Simmons in some freak lucky accident. Who woulda thought that Richard Simmons was on the west side highway getting a blowjob from a west village fifteen year old cross dresser? Well now the mushrooms had hit, time to run, something’s got to be wrong here, anything. It must have hit before, why else would I have done that with that damn puppet from some bad 80’s show? I will then run to the Hudson River, look at my reflection in the water wondering why a paper cut out of myself would dance on glass. From pure curiosity I will lunge for this two dimensional figure in a joy filled exploration of mind expansion. Holyshit sucking I wasn’t thirsty at all Batman, where did this orange juice come from, who are these monsters of forbidding pressing on my chest? Could Leviathan be unhappy with the sacrifice of the god I had created prior? The slime of the river is a sudden surprise, and the paper cutout dodged my jump and sent me into a trap, can I swim in this gunk?
The world laughed at me when I was born, shook, flustered me.
Took my plastic body, they heaved my head off pouring my soul down a drain.
Spew down my throat and then screwed my head on stripping my threads, destroying my only hope.
Taking my insides for needless forgotten toys they tossed aside when ideal.
I have become an uneasy gew that is stale and stagnant.
Alone.
