Rolling in oh my god—where are the devils playing?
I’m dancing in the fields, the sky line glistening like cum
Fresh as a mother, pasty as the backside
You’re going to run when you’ve got everything to hid
I’m jumping in piles of what was aftermath only to fall over
And drum upon the path…
Fall in love like a song and you’re high. Roll back from your knees, arch your back and you’ll fly. A breath is a moment we can’t hold onto. Watch it dance across the room and float on.
You’ll experience a trip when you rotate around vision and fall back, hips and lips and tumble over what we’re…
Please send me $10 within the next 3 days and I’ll hand write you words from my head that may or may not make sense and may or may not pertain to you depending on the current height of my intuition.
Thanks. PM me for details.
How free are you from what the sheep think of you?
The answers to this question will tell me something about your happiness.
Headache breathing, hold tight.
Why does the man think the woman think him a fool?
Sighs leaving, another night.
How does the woman silent the fight against himself?
Relations are playing tricks on love.
A written guide by ones gone wrong.
When the thing going right is made of
What we’d been missing along.
Headache breathing, sighs leaving.
Hold tight, another night.
I’m Pisces in the skin. I’m an embodiment of frequent mind change.
My wings are still damp, my gills stay the same.
I’ll turn out alright. I’m facing a warm cheek drying wind.
My heart speaks to my sleeve, my beats are for you.
I’ll rhyme for days. I’ll sleep for months in a position of upkeep.
My words are spilt, my meaning is milk.
I’m speaking in maybes. I’m the whispers after a sad song.
My lyrics are dim, my song is not heard.
Escape, north of Pisces. Far, north corner greatness.
Don’t turn around, don’t lay eyes on the chase.
Contemplate no other route, turn circles in place.
Lick Cassiopeia’s heel, right mind she’s unwashed.
Lay in and bask the vast open far north corner greatness.
With no light in this space,…
When your dry skin flakes and you’re eating noodles for dinner,
you swat at the fly, bust up a position of thought being trust.
Remember the lesion in a round about fashion,
merry go round like the pony is a cock and you’re riding.
Hang nail your way into sleep that doesn’t count against
Sometimes I look up and wish the sky weren’t there.
I’d like to see the planets and pretend we don’t breath air.
They found out cellphone towers were hijacked and were shooting cancer rays at random.
Unlucky ones thought up fast food risks,
And riding condom wrappers, they peeled back on…
Seventeen different ideas, seventeen different ways, wrapped up in a blanket, tossing, turning changing shape.
Emptier than you, the glass does not produce a riddle, mystery or question to answer.
I thought about the moment…. I thought about the moment….i thought about the seventeen different ways.
We’re expected to recover. We’re expected to remain, that rev rev rev is turning a landslide into day.
Remember when thirst is running well, the glass isn’t a question and the answer is oh hell.
Why not does the handler hold the four corners of the blanket? Because with seventeen different ideas and seventeen different ways, counting on the appropriate hold isn’t going determine secrets that she holds.
I’m the pungent honey upon your breath
I’m the maker of your scent
What you offer me isn’t equal to the uniqueness that we’ll be.
If upon a tree we were to grow
I’d be the sapling that you sow
What meaning have we
But to see
The vile entity
That we’ll be
Once the life does cease to grow
Upon the brow of makers glow
Hold me still and hold me tight
For only life is worth the fight
When lovers do not loose the sight
Of what it means to be alright
In the midst of endless blight.
The only places I can really think is three. Bed. Car. Shower.
In my head is all three. A bed in a car with a shower. Soggy thoughts falling asleep while driving.
Imagined crashing into the truck to the front of me just so my death could momentarily tragically affect someone.
Explain to me…
Dreary, dreary, dreary. Oh teary eyed one, how do you caress a wet blanket?
How do you find comfort in the cold press of tears soaked in cotton?
Soft as your hair is, fingers can roll through it like a marble down the drain.
Soft as your hair is, tears don’t linger across its lines but fall past your face and symbol all your pain.
Dreamy, dreamy, dreamy. Oh forgetful, I am the one who can’t recall what it means to be learning it all.
I used to stare past the lighted faces too, I used to pause and wonder before I got up from a fall.
I’ve nearly forgotten, in growing, what it feels like to be a flower pressed against the wall.
But my baby, let me teach you. Do you believe in magic? Because baby, I do.
I’m going to weave the wonders of the world for you, cast up a spell of knowledge, magic, baby, will see you through.
To tell the difference between a story and a plan
the speaker must shush visions of dreary man.
She tells weaving dreams of planets far away;
planets metaphoring for lives listeners hope will stay.
Lyricism wrote her middle name
as she sings songs to put fallacies to blame.