Where the grip releases the birds,
and helium balloons are for lease,
and tear the faces of the children
shaking their heads to trusting words.

Spinning soda top bottle,
in a ***** alley-way.
memories are buried,
in the sand ants hurried
for not but a temple.
but their scars to fodder.

Pick on me as I'm different.
To hell with assumptions
This is the ****** Internet
I feed you ******* and secrets,
lies and never glowing me
when your blackest vessel
is filled with greasy toxicity.