I hate myself

I hate myself and I liked it. Spit into the mirror to follow the tears of
my teddy-bear and torn pillow. Edging around the mellow to be more
orange than black is yellow. Let's sell low to buy high and row the boat
to dull the gold in our copper-coins are always of a funny mold...

Same old,. poets are let to lead, like Amsterdam decreed - Ram is better
in my PC - I see you bought yours from the scene, to be real. But I seen
betters and that's why I button-raise your wild chase with my lazy daze.
Those crazy days as I remenesce about the dais be shorter than your gaze.

My mind went on a raze to be traced back to the fossils of half-life shell-shocked
tremors, remorcing reinforced concrete balls, what there washed on the shore...
There has been nothing more to encore of intent malicioning ammunitions like
nutrient-fusion attritions. Conditioning the tensions in diss and dat ass; I kiss myself pretty brass!

I cut my own-drawn red lines to be craven like whiteravens don't abide in the wilderness
without being the blind leader for with one eye you leave the others behind. As I shut my
blinds with loving-kindness and some interest in kind I raise my ass to your sign, but loaf
then you do the same at my grind. To expect perfection, non-plus-ultra Ad Hominem wild!

I do not mind to be insane, while getting out at end of the line, then the train got lost in action
and the tracks there missing a glimpse of lapses of judgement. I augment the fermented rent,
while the bent logic has always been bought by the hissing gray-scale faint, who didn't know
how chain-mail could be mana-leaked and bent. Contractions entering my syllables as I dictate!

Action must be taken, my hand is still talking and not married - so let's fap and be Ivory Maiden;
may then be the thieves den full of lions or vipers, it's still better than a glen full of suss dreams.
Maybe they shelves don't know what they mean. To be alone in the dark, while nothing begets all;
I'm hungry and craving for more sucking up on the late-night show at my convenience-store... bored

I adjure that this poetry is something of lore. To be one of knights and chivalry than D&D could
forebode into my rivalry, then I got into an argument with myself and took Me witness and at wits
end was just out of Godspeed and a good bless to play chess with some goosebumps I bumped into
my feared nightmares to dare a bunji-jump into hell and back, so the world would look like Heaven.

But it looks like Forest Gump merged together with Ben Tennissons granfathers gumbo. Eaten
by Kevin E. Levins smoking Levy's what there elevated to slaving with the same shit as the Gremlin
a nice kitten as a mogwai, but drank water and ate meat. And that's there the skeletons are barking
roast beef. I go deep with my greef as the scythe of Grim Reaper but without leaving adjourned four-leaves...