Rhymes to a bs abstract topic

TIGERSPITZ · 08-02-2014, 01:03 AM

there's a bus route, and a path less wandered.
deviate from routine & you leave unmasked, an impostor.
a faker, a fraud, sure, you try to fit in-
you cram in the pack and smack of antacid on blotter.
hit to the lick. clap for the concert.
fuck it. you brave through the walk,
alone. you cuss & manage a laugh to calm nerves...
the rustic path is abandoned, solo and awkward.
it winds through the woods. wine-tips and good.
you're feeling it now, weirdly cautiously proud-
reminisce upon-
father's corvette, a remembrance: steering rockets through town
micromanage a perfect 4th of july.
responsible now, work into coffers until die. so forget zero pressure,
inaudible sentences, improper nouns- just the scent of December.
proud of every present you found without fostering doubt.
discovering Santa was built beneath a tree of misgivings, and guilt.
my fake reads Art-Deku McFleeting. treble & loud. tremble & scrounge
for reasons for living: well, i'm drawing a blank.
perhaps existentialism's robbing a bank,
and swiping a sack full of memories with
no offering thanks. that's emptiness in a pause .
the emptiness we applaud. the empty symphony hall
that sinks that 'empty' in all, as we develop
theories of meaning that barely compel me to stop.
reading the walls with a candle in the belly of god,
head towards the light- it's quite the conundrum.

08-02-2014, 01:03 AM	#1
TIGERSPITZ faded Join Date: Nov 2013 Location: NYCSPITZ's closet Posts: 28 Rep Power: 0	Rhymes to a bs abstract topic there's a bus route, and a path less wandered. deviate from routine & you leave unmasked, an impostor. a faker, a fraud, sure, you try to fit in- you cram in the pack and smack of antacid on blotter. hit to the lick. clap for the concert. fuck it. you brave through the walk, alone. you cuss & manage a laugh to calm nerves... the rustic path is abandoned, solo and awkward. it winds through the woods. wine-tips and good. you're feeling it now, weirdly cautiously proud- reminisce upon- father's corvette, a remembrance: steering rockets through town micromanage a perfect 4th of july. responsible now, work into coffers until die. so forget zero pressure, inaudible sentences, improper nouns- just the scent of December. proud of every present you found without fostering doubt. discovering Santa was built beneath a tree of misgivings, and guilt. my fake reads Art-Deku McFleeting. treble & loud. tremble & scrounge for reasons for living: well, i'm drawing a blank. perhaps existentialism's robbing a bank, and swiping a sack full of memories with no offering thanks. that's emptiness in a pause . the emptiness we applaud. the empty symphony hall that sinks that 'empty' in all, as we develop theories of meaning that barely compel me to stop. reading the walls with a candle in the belly of god, head towards the light- it's quite the conundrum.