* * *~

Yes no perhaps maybe.
It all depends on the timing in the end.
How the reaction acts in front of an audience.
With sound on mute for mutual UN-satisfaction.
I appear dead to all of you perceivers.
I retract all those statements made in a moment yet to materialize.
I am a wasted poet so I throw a bone to those better than me.
Suffer from allowing too much information to correct itself.
This two headed Pegasus' will definitely rock your world.
I am loosing my ability to write and focus.
There are only so many mistakes one man can make before he starts to believe in them.
Until he starts to identify with them and take them as his own inner self.
Stitch them to his ragged clothing to cover his greasy scaly skin beneath.
It smells of germs and homophobia in here, thats why you are never around anymore.
Listen to these mumbles carefully my dear projected love object.
The next time I breathe is the last time I make love for the first time again.
Obsessed with knowing much by forgetting what matters most.
I am sentimental creative and such a dumbass.
There was a time when I could wake up naturally.
Now these machines are all hooked into me.
I am part of the system, plugged in and sold out for no specific reason.
Everybody has a price and I have found out that I am cheap.
The stars on the outside.
No one is looking at me anymore.
By tossing you down the stairs and disposing of your corpse in no particular location the brain people begin to wonder and ask tasteless questions so I will just stick to poetic recitations.
Some are better than the worst.
As long as I am listened to with a full stomach and eyes set on forever eternal being.
The world view I am creeping on is fading away in this parasitic moonlight darkness.
Candles glow brightly on bones.
Terrifyingly I look at the wonder of the bearded cozy corner preacher.
There is no porch light on so fuck off.

Dru