Violence and violines

Violence and violines got past my lence;
as I hit pretence on its sixth sense.
The past is immence and it made no incence
to innosence the licence of 5 cents
I found behind my couch -
crouching and goughing to coach
the tiger, howering like  the spirit of God
over the rainbow shooting bolts of laughter...


Inside some shooting stars pressed the space bar
and hashtagged some gagged nerves in the grasslands
as my mind went flat and twerked the meaning, which
was on the straight and narrow and a flush in my rubberband.
Yours truly as I slay verily the verity and integrity
as saints and sinners go down just the same merrily.
Alas, the glee: to have some retard rewards envisioned
in the full house of cards. Why only sense can commonly seem something.


I was seeing something and it was fucking my brains out.
Maybe it was bullshit or some ballony, what ever would Murphy say.
Butterflies there dancing on my tea as I added some milk;
the silk flavour of meaning nothing had a smalltalk
as some derailed notions came past to haunt which cut me some slack...
Imminently bridging between the captive audience of immolation
and infatile cancerous gnawing of chewing bones
but my gums there soft and bloody while the tooth there too nice to hold back


I could take it back and violate some other chords of memory banks
but regrets have seldom made good table manners. Some violet lines
there crossed and replaced with magenta to augument the diversity
of having nothing to say while still saying it all. If people liberate themselves mores
there would be no difference between Free Willy and God
A wet Willy would be also an option to wedgy the stern expressions
back to the drawingboard of boredom and gawking at the drypainted fascade.
I overheard that the herd wanted to be the sheppard but without violines and violence