If weakness is unveiled
Could a foe be a friend

If you're skin read like braille
Could that friend be a lover?

We've seen what the edge looks like,
How much the impact would hurt...
But, I cant get over how fun it looks to fall

This town is diseased
with atrophy
and it's snatching whatever's left
Godlyness
doesn't exist here.
Only the disgust
behavioral ****
we season our addictions with.


I'm worn down
Still refuse to forfeit
**** out the  bad
If you crave bliss
Then you'll have to avoid it
Heavily
etching forcefeilds
From the electricity

We now
Got a hex to protect us



Flee far away
from this vortex
Every inch I move forward
Means more
getting ****** in

But before that,
I was flooded with
scenes of great importance
I want to be better...
than this town,
these people,
and have something
Redeemable

In the end
I'm alone
tapping in my room
with a big cloud of anger at my back
..hoping it'll make me run faster.

Starving
artist
harvest
hardship
harness 
harmlessness
in the darkest sharpness
where the sharks live
and started
ripping apart their target
settle 
like a heartless carcass 
parting with the flesh..
-written in '13 by camryn johnson

Steam kettle thinking
im not in the mood
for swift wishful thinking
smudge upon the blacktop
semicolon dot dot

The symbol that I cant crack
a blank space where I am to craft some sentence
the etching that describes
my indolence
my frazzled brain turned
to mush

Just like they predicted...
Don't let the gates age you
untwist & pick padlocks
that stand ground arount you
Alive in progression

We have no choice
but to propel a voice-box
over the noise.

Stumble clumsily
to that of which you think
is your sensei...
and ask
Why must I bow?
Take a break just take it down
a notch
Just watch me howl
at the moon
meditate let the sun
hit you in the face
Awaking you to a new
confusion
"better mean what you say
so you'll still be sitting when you
float away through hazy old
sayings displays testaments to progress
even frogs respect goggled honesty
from lilypad perspectives
directive flush and disconnect
from freshness"

We are soothed by the sounds of sleep
get youthinized, get grey matter to leak
unconscious encouragement
mutterings so sweet
Let me bask in the drift
Transit to a spot more hospitable
less hospice
one where tongues flail
against the grain
passing insurmountable grass
that has yet to be grazed
or did you expect a
land unscathed
would you rather be subject
to the sound of white
or the sound of writhe
cry yourself to sleep
til you can't see straight
til you write your final ending
you feel as if your too late