1.
I
strike a perfect match to surrogate my sticks, slapping
the
wood for the amber and sulfur scent. Nothing is as it
seems;
supplementing the tempest of psyche with inane
fliers
saying “Tempus fugit”, tempering the steer to not show
off,
what I mean, while being a sully… Contempt is all,
I
need, to dissipate into a thin crowd and crown myself Ass-King.
I'm
just asking for opinions, to pin the lion on onions and go scarlet.
2.
Crimson
is the new white, and scarlet the new black; blushing like cologne,
to
vent the suffocated minds some Astair, abstaining the maimed affair
of
seeing
minced meat defeated by suspense. My pencil did not see it cumming,
as
my RC gave up and started a strike, I was on my third and was cold
out.
I
gave my number to the fat lady, so she could sing me something nice,
before
the
curtain curtails my entrails of enraging on the snails and bail out
the running
refrigerator,
what had too much hot coffee. Must have been a hangmans joke…
3.
I
was nodding towards the Flintstones to reprobate the utopia of
perpetual mobiles!
Anger
filled my eyes and became the beholder of beauty and virtuous
stimulations,
what
instigated the matrix of repeated menageries of psycho-morphed
individuals,
sodomized
into S&M like M&M's in a jar. It made me feel betters, that I
didn't
consider
to shoot the Sheriff, and not kill the deputy, while I was dressing
myself
in
womanized ascensions for my calculus exam. Puny in my effort to
distort reality
just
in case, I have to lay down and rest in peace; the closure was
self-evident…
4.
I
filed my maniacs under the carpet, as the animations went berserk,
disengaging
from
old cartoons of bombshell heads blowing your minds. Hebdo was an
asshole,
who
wiseassed the visage of boxing opponents, who there already down for
the
discount.
It was called shadow-doxxing; the ghost-click was just a flicker
away…
It's
funny to see others turmoil, turncoat all dried walls to pink
sucker-punched lines,
as
though decency is decadent and voyeur avant-garde to abstract
savant recipients
of
Homo sufficient batman stories of climbing down the wall to Dante's
inferno!
5.
It
is safe to assume, the ass fumed interludes of Shakespeare's
“Macbeth”
and
I was sitting down stoned and crucified into a hoarcrux of
hoarse-raddish
and
cottage-cheese to make my own golem and do Bruce Allmighty.
As
I did God, the devil was not impressed and framed the mirror empty.
The
details craved for more whistle blowers, who could guide Lyrgoif out
of
the woods as the wicked witch was eating the sandman. The course of
my play
had
an edge in all kinds of evil deeds, I didn't recall on my polygraph…
6.
The
paragraph was long and graffiti hung over the giraffe of stain in Las
Vegas.
Some
generals there fanning out to coup their detachments into
astonishment
of
Cosmopolitan dreams, while remaining entrenched in Vitriol ghettos.
I
arranged my derangements into a derringer of sane stories of inside
jokes.
I
wanted to make the ends meat my last supper; as I was chasing after
the green fairy;
it
was neat to see it go my way and not the wise man say. I was left
over right in the center of the storm eying the last peace of cake in
the shape of the devils triangle.
7.
It
wasn't distasteful at all to appall the apt of craven thrall,
applauding the
Laudanum
of judgment calls to know what the mentally ill may snore, when
water-boarded
to oblivion. I alleviated some graceful anthems of a Queen
that
the show must go on, as the cancer ate my homework. You have to
suffer
for
art, but who makes the deliberations of where they happen! Who art
thou
to
thus say to the lord of popular discord, that you are the blind
customers King?
Even
if I'm wrong, the right is just an inch away from the bulls eye, what
got pierced.
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