Man. For those of us who indulge in alcohol, for those of us on weed; for those of us who pop the pill for those of us who heed the warning of the psychedelic dark shrouded in tone, mistakes and errors beautiful waiting on the phone. We break it down and churn it up, in belly's vile with bile, and lest we sway to 'blivion our mind's eye sails the Nile, to plains white and green where the sun strikes down a pose so innocent and pure with a scent of decompose that lifts our spirits as the sand drops down and falls each grain we yearn to get back on our paws our toes our life.
Relationships are scattered by time of day and yeast, the work we put or not determines our heart's inner beat the corniness of writing this exposed and under siege means nothing compared to sitting by a peaceful chaotic, necrophiliac ocean's breeze.
To rich and haughty, handsome and fat, the wealth accrued is a matter of fact that brings order to the world and order to your life order to the filth and order to the knife. We dream of wicker chairs and fences feces dropped and names relentless. We lose our way and find our soul.
Every fucking weekend.
Heads roll. (our own)
No comments:
Post a Comment