Today I sat my *** upon a grassy spot
And I afforded my soul patience
So it can conjure up a thought

Only problem is
I have a problem listening

I don't hears words of heart
All I hear is nonsense
Din, and things.

But now I have to listen
Because I'm ***-gary

When my forehead starts to glisten
Is when I found the will to be.

Dead grass is holding up my garden of chicken ****
Stories, many stories held high on the projected
notion that I can save every brown person one day.

I never knew that that night would
play all out like it really would.

But it did,
and so it should.



Predestination thinking can be fleeting
because all it will do is make you ill.

When you die,
no one will care if
coke or pepsi
is what's really REAL.

Still I'm holding on
for the hope that I'll find a willful women.

Not a savior.
Not now. Not then.
But someone who can really love me
and really be my best friend.

He didn't graduate.
He didn't even match his slacks with his shoes.
He's so old.
His chest hurts and he smells like *****.

Life is a set of stories.
Like a cranberry nicotine bullet lodged into
you
into your heel
into the boot of your shoes.

And now my antics are broadcast on tv like a radium
built barrier against clean air and the understood.

Have a haberdasher
would can fix your swollen shoes
in a manner so professional
when we wouldn't have to schmooze...

So...instead the sewer percolates
and chocolate gets hot.

Desires are molded in a mold
with trade secrets, I'd get shot
for talking about how we did it, and how we are so nice.

because sugar is like acid when you accept kindness as your spice.

Still i'm only leaving my legs to show up and show up all the sugar that I see.

i when i need my need insulin i know that youre
much less that what I need.

I heard seven birds in the morning.

And in their music I heard a warning.

It hurt so bad that I wanted to die, but I tried to live so I held on.



I heard four birds at lunch time.

While I minded my own business

they slithered in my head.

But still I kept them alive for business.


It's risky lips that licked and held on the edges of my love,
Evenstill it's not any blessing from above.
It's luck and it's ******* ridiculous.
Passionbuilt plays made of love and dreams.

It's an easy way out but it seems that Im shot.
I'm not what I should be.
I'll die here.
That's okay.

Unfairness is all I can see.

There used to be plenty of time
and I would spend it with my friends
and their sisters

Wistful air are all we had on trampolines

Spliced together is our life
scenes of sun-soaked adolescent stages

On a rainy june 15th
with a basket in my hand

I carried my first girlfriend to the promised land
made of pollen, lies, and lillies

It's silly how much
Still silly how much it does

Blending! Spending an autumn is a perfectly bled out seam.

Sending! Rending out glory bugs from your favorite stream.

Bending! Glen-like ice patches made of snow.

Ending! Burning crisp, glass ridden grass off of you

To show.

It's all I want to do now.
All I can do is talk.

It's the only power I have,
is to have a time to squawk.

Even still,
let even measure,
make sure that I can be.

Even now,
let cloudy weather,
determine what I can see.

I remember when I popped a blister
It hurt like hell on Christmas day.

Ripped apart was Mr. Painful
There to teach and make my day.

i blew into a straw one day
to just feel how cold air felt

i'm out of every space
that should make
a nightmare of the self.

so i'm bidding
all alone
for a piece of heaven

i'm not elevated like
you think i am
i'm a monster and
not an even man

so even when i'm everywhere
even when i breath

i know that i'm a monster
and i know i should live.

Listening.
Be by me.
It's all about missing out.

Glisten.
On happy, grassy edges.
Life is good, worth screaming about.

Missed. Missing.
Bliss, blessed life is remiss
of all of hope still held aloft.

****. ******.
******* about all of
the things I hold high and tight.

Hissssss.
Hissing.
Melted.
Messed up.

Gulped.
Gather it all.
Gather it and make sure.
Make sure that's it's enough.

Captured in a facet made of perfect, diamond-cut, faces.

She sure held face, because she really was beautiful.

So, it'd be my duty to know why I'm smeared like this.

*******, I could really be.
And I could hold a candle up to see,
Shine light on what I'm really for.
And crack a solid stick of fighting over head,
for what? I'm not really sure.

God, poison hate-crimes have held me in wrapped up pieces.

I shared friends, made more the many people my people.

It's yucky,
but still,
I'm not evil.

And even held an even keel,
showing that I'm still real.

I'm, not were I ever, even people.
Not evil.
Not even.
Still.

One:
Two, how have we heaved more?

Two:
What's more than failure on the seashore?

Three:
Black women led us to victory

Four:
How sour is the hour of hate before I felt filled up.

Five:
Before, before, begin and after.

Six:
It's nothing. It's just a rapture.

How hard must a heart hurt to not feel worth what you are?

How bad must you be, to be able see that you took it too far?

How sad must you feel before you can accept that it's
YOU'RE deal that makes you less happy.

How mad and ****** can you feel about you feel about yourself before you see all you're doing is being a baby?

Not long enough.

But also long enough.

It's been plenty days.

We all have had a living hell and now I have to say:
It's okay, even though it's not.
It'll be alright even if I get shot.
Everyday is fine,
and so are you.
Everything is beautiful,
and so is what you do.

Wagging in the wind
was a piece of who I was.

Sagging in my legs if a feeling
that buzzes

Fuzziness is fleeting
and it clouds my thought-filled head.

I'd rather eat some nachos
so I don't feel so dead,

Having a glass of tea after a shower of frosty green grass.

It's only showing how well showers can amass a humble passage.

Never have I fastened how I've happened upon a life like this.

Please grow.

Please show now that plowing weakness into ambition is desperate.

It's blatant.

It'll show how cretins can bleat out hateful rhetoric.

And it's gross.

It makes a conscious heart sick.

So, lemme go.
Lemme show how much hate can glaze over us.
And that
can be enough.

Cemented into dead empty was the best of me.

Cremated was an elated hate built race war that I was never meant to be...

Crammed into a noodle *** was a lot of hate filled bits.

But I don't speak for skin and bones.

And Even more..

I'm not all of it.

I went out on the corner
and bought a bag of chips.

Then out on the road
I shared a swisher with a Mr. Hellhole
and we happened to talk all night.

Bright and early in the morning,
I woke up
with a helluva hangover
that was written in blood
and shoved my into
what I really was.

Walking in the witching hour
is better left for those that should.

Schelping in a helping of life with a belly
full of meal should
be understood as awful.

Bellywake.
Incantation should me wake up just for dinner?
I know I'm a sinful being
so seeing me is all you have to
deal with...

Call it a natural.

Even though it's not, at all.

It'll be a plagiarized ball of masks and hair.

It'll be what you show your kids,
on your old facebook.

When you thought you were young.
And they'll stare.

At the screen.
And then at you.

You wish you were a better mom.
But all you can do is stare.

And they stare back at you.
Blaming.
Shaming.
And naming you.
The owner.
Of all the bad decisions
you ever did.
And every bad decision you'll ever do.

Blossomed,
showed me out of  a gutter.
Spent, showed, muttered.

And bled out of me.

So, spent
unfettered.
Mucked,
and ****** up little bits.

It mattered before I felt so bad,
before I left in my spaceship.

What kind of leader are you?
What in the hell are you talking about?

What sort of shoes do you let yourself wear?
And what in the world can make you shout
Like you do?

Is it all the blue air in the sky?
and the way fresh dirt smells?

Is it that a chicken nugget
tastes so great
but will never make you well?

I have to say that I stayed up late last night fastening together
a pipe dream.

I slithered and slipped in allusions, and foreshadowing

And now that it's all finished, I'm gonna plaster
It up on my ceiling just so I can see it everday.

Breaking off chips ice,
More brittle than a pack of Juicy fruit left in my coat packet,
In the car the other day, chipping of bits of dry sugar goo.

Making off, with paper slips make of lies and anything
that left me with more paper at the end of the day,
after waiting for hours at the check cashing place.

I shook off my pants, and spot cleaned to give me 48 more hours
until a proper laundry.

I took off from a broken stance I made for myself.
A sturdy, stable footprint pressed in mud,
and left to freeze overnight.

I made off with a lot of stories,
but I left my mouth at my lover's house.
In the corner, with my charger and water bottle.

So, I shaved off every hair on my head,
slept standing up,
and made-believe I was dead.

I stuck a melted crayon right into my forehead.

And I let it melt into my eyes until my tear ducts bleed.

I even had had the nerve to show my never-face.

I gurgle up an explanation of why my life's a waste.


Even still, I packed my lunch.

Just caffeine and old shoes.
The things that make me love life's color
and love all of it's hues.

Sold.
Stolen in grassy air.
Hay hell,
smell.
Musty, sharp bales selling me
nutrients.

So, I'm told.
Old rattlesnake skins and apricot spit
is lit on fire while I'm try to defile and remember who I am.