Simmering nail paint saint,
faint on the dainty portions on the plate.
Set up a date with fate,
find myself a year later fingering electrical sockets to masturbate.
Finished off with that doting grin; infinite backspin,
flick the cigarette toward the ash bin.
We make laughs out of misery once we seen who's really laughin'.
Passion,
something we all possess but some of us can't control it.
That moment?
Just an influx of emotional atonement.
Physical component,
fixing the hard drive,
locking your spine,
bringing memories to life, intwined.
Vines are just tangles in mother nature's hair.
And we learn to and swing on the to accomplish any dare.
Pair off and sit squared,
in the middle there was some unidentifiable silverwear.
A spoon to feed you with,
cook up poison for the drip,
a knife to cut and roll the piff,
or a fork to fucking stab you quick.
---
Vibrant green blades of grass tickle the back of your shin,
the sensation vacation lets the memories back in.
Devilish grin,
How's it going? Where you been?
It's been a while since a smile came to tickle my chin.
Double the dose of reality to the vanity,
once spelled it all out hoping one day he'd be proud of me.
But now you see the golden tree, that sprang from the cigarette ashed days that were meant to be.
Existing is enlisting the the likelihood of loving free-ly,
wondering deep-ly,
so bad sometimes you find yourself stumbling,
and not once in my life have I had to revert to mumbling,
but some days are just so fucking amazing it's truly humbling.
So pardon me if my stare is a little distant,
the cinema is premiering our past and I don't want to miss a minute.
Don't make fucking assumptions,
I just wanted to admit it.
The fact the you were a piece cut perfectly to fit inside the person alive and in it.
Or something like that?
--
Torso twist wormhole dramatic empty Virgo.
Er go,
or was it "avoid" the nerve to step on boots,
so acute though.
Gifted with ta smooth tongue and envious attributes.
Scoot, scoot, scoot.
The sunlight is only just starting to fade to grey,
burghandy, deep green,
or was it something else you couldn't yet convey.
Strayed from the cold breeze that gives out weak knees with a silent glimmering gleam of the red from itchy bee stings.
Fangs long enough to infect you through the vocal chords in bed,
make you the living dead,
sing you alarming lullabies,
taking scissors to the strings you tied.
Five minutes ago I felt completely pron to grab the fucking rope and swing across this gaping threshold.
Make gold.
TALLIHOE!
Sedate the feeling of:
"RETALIATE!"
or the feeling of:
"TAKE THE BAIT!"
or like,
"FUCK IT, THIS SHIT IS FATE!"
Blind snakes,
vaped brains slither and instate fear into the tears slipping fast off your face.
Misplaced or just easily mistaken,
for taken moments without a grain of salt.
If only you'd savored the taste,
you wouldn't be to pron to walk up and out of this place.
Trace back the steps,
throw out the old regrets,
prepare yourself to rearrange just to make a new mess.
Decompress the stress from the back of your neck.
No need to take twenty minutes,
ain't got time to get tangled in the spinet.
