Coral squash love ache.

[big baby]

I ought'a revisit the outer zone of cognizance given, where a tower drawn is symbolic as power thrones, or phallic exhibits. Attempt to accomplish prose til' i'm out of it, grinning', a dauber that's dipping enamel acrylic. He says wow to his gimmicks, proud of what is and what isn't. Til' the pavement is pounded, cemented, & hours are minutes. Powerless sorceress conquered. Shot-glass the cognac. The roar of monster, that scours the Rorschach. Songs beings written, while the drippin of paint stains the apostle. Where exchanges are made and you jot quotes. Focused by the strum of the love notes. The recoil of the arm when you shoot-- not the powder or gun-smoke. Devour Picasso in the moments where sound doesn't come close. The renaissance marker, is brilliant. This is art for the cynics, departure distilled. Pour water & snippet his art. The author revealed. Inside of a coffin, it isn't hard to ponder ordeal. What he's thinking is different, between sketching what his heart is depicting. A horror. It's vicious, dishonor; unveiled. Take it up with the alcoholic who forgot about the dollar bill in his wallet. Sniff the flowery pollen, while passion is sung. It's ashes to ashes to blackness and we all fall down. The lump in my throat was caught by the cat on my tongue. Pastorless, smug. Puzzle piece, waiting for the rapture to come. Swallowing pride undetected, but yacked up my lungs. Resurrection of evil. Where resident captives sing while sober. The color's pink, mild coral, come to think, her aroma, holy shit, wild; coked-up. bolded print, nice persona, mocha skin, mind is solar. quoted things, we coexist till no one thinks, our souls are links to supernovas. its like molded fissure til' i'm on the sink, eyes are swole up, holding hands while in coma. Whole existence tied to joker, who would think this guys a poser?, so he lies and thinks to iron stitch. He ties his holes up. Deprived of things, lifes a cold stud. Tries to sing, but writhes and stings. Oh why just me? I want a life of closure, have some kids, ride and drink, smile and wink,playin 'first to blink' with the cobra. It's miles til it's mild again. He's had it, he tells everybody it was a 'accident' for the evident chip on his shoulder, but what can he do except try and be lucid, cause you rather them think nothings there, than for them to lie and see through it