Darth Yoda
02-23-2013, 10:48 PM
At my best when I’m undressed. Meditating. Feel how lovely the earth is. It’s onset Münchausens. Feel a cough. No idea how I unnerved it. I’m down when the sun sets. So I’m upset. You heard this. Feel the mud drenched on my cut pecs. Dusk set. It’s perfect. We’ve heard of overly eager birds getting the worm picks. But what about the covert worms. Up before the sunset emerges. Motherfuckers. Fucking mothers. Fuck your motherly. WORTHLESS! Scale the rage. Impaled. It hurts. Now you’ll say I had a weigh with words. On the page. A failures worse. Never really had a way with with words. Eloped. & ran away. With words. Now being fairly wasted barely hurts. “You say sorry way too much.” I’m sorry I say sorry way too much. I’m sorry. I said sorry for saying sorry way too much. But look at it this way and such. Instead of forgiving and not forgetting. Forget I said sorry, and don’t forgive me. Cause!! I love saying sorry way too much. Cause with you, it’s tough, you tell me to be spontaneous. I have to of course! So I start. Chewing a smoked cannibal corpse, in tune with craze. Both hands full of forks. With view of, the apocalyptic delusion. Vaudevillian. The ruthless un-folds. Maximal works. So you call me an asshole, you tell me to stop and ask me ‘what was that for?’ THAT Wasn’t what was asked for? Wasn’t what was wished upon. Lust this dulling lexicon. In which you close the glass door. Comatose, in fact. Hold your hats. I just sold my black soul. It’s more than that; though. Open class. This is purple crack. A dull extract. Full attached. This is Boulder back blow. Full’ of paque smoke. Hulls detached. Expulsion gas. Ghosts. It’s moral grass. Holy Mass. Slowly pass. Slow. Rolling back-forth. With soldiers strapped. Holsters packed whole. Through the shoulder patches. Coaxy strength. You holding back yo? Trow the snowy black mould. Where the shoulder-length, Boa snakes. Slither through the greener, growing. Pasture. On the other side it’s greener. That doesn’t mean it’s better. Cuz my veins turn purple when the syringe goes in and that feelings…Ledger. Heath. Sweaters. Neat. Love the feeling of velveteen. Better, see? Testing me. Elevate a vexed esteem. Eyelids, drenched in chi. Eyes rip. Skeletons. Disintegrate with yellow streams. It’s so psychic. I’m a melon peach hybrid. Selling in the streets. High Bids. Hold your headers up high. Write the bolded letters, cause I’m A soulless vendor. Born to pepper up lives. BORN to sever all ties. BORN dismembered. I’ll die. Born a member of lies. My soul is a lions roar, heard through the hell and tall skies. Never conjured a current conjugation of coagulated currents. Metaphor? The pathetic pine worth when you escalate subservience. The torrential ejaculation seminal extract of this emasculated hurt bitch. Oh. God. I feel the roaring guitars greet my pre-existing return. Banging drum repetitions pick up tempo. So exquisite. Lips burst