The Nigh Hill Is(™)

Objective · 03-13-2022, 03:54 PM

The coulda, woulda, shoulda Buddha stood a little longer
going harder, better, faster, stronger as the lasting Ungar.
Any martyr feather laughter under pressure 'till they die.
I am fasting while brewing up a stew to conquer thunder
tasked with being sly.
So, who the fuck are you?
I was left in depth of secrets kept to make attempts without regrets until I bled,
but now I'm "dead".
So, that's a solemn lie.
Why bother if I try when the scars make up the sky?
The winter surface in the morning has an inner purpose of its own,
just a shitty feeling when the spring's revealing
the path you're going home.
Hiking through the muddy swamps created by my soul
shows the nature of my goals as if that'll make me whole.
I'm an agent pacing so impatient with unlabeled kinks adjacent.
My domes a palace, talents vacant, kitchen sink complacent,
the misanthrope is useful to a fault.
I add pepper to my salt.
Habits aging caged in taverns paved in patterns made of minds,
the sins and ancient malice chasing rabbits chasing time.
This sage engaged in rage and callous thoughts were all for nought.
Fuck a dollar for your thoughts,
I've heard it all before.

03-13-2022, 03:54 PM	#1
Objective ( ͡º ͜ʖ ͡º) Join Date: Jan 2013 Posts: 3,868 Battle Record: 17-32 Rep Power: 52474192	The Nigh Hill Is(™) The coulda, woulda, shoulda Buddha stood a little longer going harder, better, faster, stronger as the lasting Ungar. Any martyr feather laughter under pressure 'till they die. I am fasting while brewing up a stew to conquer thunder tasked with being sly. So, who the fuck are you? I was left in depth of secrets kept to make attempts without regrets until I bled, but now I'm "dead". So, that's a solemn lie. Why bother if I try when the scars make up the sky? The winter surface in the morning has an inner purpose of its own, just a shitty feeling when the spring's revealing the path you're going home. Hiking through the muddy swamps created by my soul shows the nature of my goals as if that'll make me whole. I'm an agent pacing so impatient with unlabeled kinks adjacent. My domes a palace, talents vacant, kitchen sink complacent, the misanthrope is useful to a fault. I add pepper to my salt. Habits aging caged in taverns paved in patterns made of minds, the sins and ancient malice chasing rabbits chasing time. This sage engaged in rage and callous thoughts were all for nought. Fuck a dollar for your thoughts, I've heard it all before. __________________ I'm not a slave for entertainment, I'm entertainments personal slave, So deep into writing I'm concerned bout the text on my grave. www.youtube.com/watch?v=gV8ozGcGJ6o Last edited by Objective; 03-13-2022 at 04:07 PM.