shakespearian spacetrip (our writing journey)
a jovial cluster, conjoined by the junctures of serendipity's gaze
colloquial structures, quoted for exquisite toxicity -- translates as ink on a page
Our destination depends, on inclination to fervor, the further we investigate in our nurture
success is painted in red, and as brothers, we're boiling blood that delineates us as persons
some of us poets. annoyingly unbeknownst to the ballad of colors exposed
if guns become roses, gentle words are gunpowder stemming this cultures explosion
the scariest people. even enraged & unpeaceful..u'd barely see it. we're a cannibis leaf
cus metaphors are loosely based on deceit. we use lies to weed away at our weakness
if we aren't alcoholics, our arid sonnets, are dying stars within a belt
white dwarf syndrome. how do you hurt a crashing comet that's on the urge to kill itself?
we capture moments better than photographs, enshrined in perfect vignetting respect
dried tear-drops in my moleskin were played off to friends as "urban artistic effect" (how pathetic)
we're destined for pain. dispassionate slaves to the emotions we could never escape
our destination; unpaved. indentured to the roads we bent out of shape
impetuous pace. freaks of nature, impeding danger when a soul brandishes quill
birds of a feather flock together. destination: unknown. and that's when the catalyst kills
Last edited by Darth Yoda; 10-01-2014 at 03:02 AM.
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