You can see me dear woodsman,nude and dominant where there's rebirth, there is also promise. Steel tree is my fellow nuisance, nymph mode is slightly gracious and I wake up on a lamb-coat of no shame, furred and non-wilted, words of reprieve and intelligence, feminine only once more, I think I see the vibrations of a high shriek in my bath, can't hold it in forever. "I forgive you wet seam". No more will this comfort shout silently in a hole, No longer will I try to crack in my hood of bone. I'm the woman who's feet never touches the ground. I have no...
Your'e a band, a girdle, a limbus braid almost golden, shade of infant, mouth of hydro candy, pass it on, lip to soul I shall unloose, Give me your war, Manscape More earth than a red Adam, abstract and greatly unappreciated , see? Human and mercurial So limbo like this, sexed out and cool, I think the sun and dirt agrees, that there's no stick exist between myself and myself.
There's always a promise of rebirth for a plastic temple, the soft self repaired and dominant.
Y.O.L.O., I'll make it one hell of a perfect fucking time. The sickness is newness like muscle milk for a deceased baby, a candy piper on his bib, music lays on the ground unheavy with long legs, tangled laurels upon the spine, hair of reprisal, a golden setback. I think I can love once more.
My rubber duck catapulted itself, no more in the dreams of mine, the water, the bubbles soaking the tile, every square must be a polygon illusion for this reality. Guess you can stay I'm still breathing.
It came to me in the light, the door was already open, the warning wasn't overheard, my shepherd called me a liar. There's no darkness here! Screaming the crazies, Screaming I'M crazy, I'm not. Maybe everyone else is ill.
It came to me, non deliberate,non-animous but a warning.
Always so unsure, but not when the wheat is white and my hair is spun in the silkiest of silk just given a tar bath and wrenched of my heart's own kind.
I think not. Pensive and generous. Thee had no compensation for fornicating me into my world.
I have to admit, my element never lies to me Guess the goddess is real, and she spit water in my dreams. Begging for me to wake up, gods are after me. The energy, my soul was a ticket of gold, thee is just seven of wands. Now I've...
O' the cravings of the mind give me one and i'll oblige, every woman has her potion , but i have to find a glimpse from my shatters, though it's not me at all,
And his four tongues lie to me for a little while, and my woman begs to see me. I ignore. Give a god an embrace and shove his gold where only happiness can stand it. The plane takes off. It's just me in sky ranting on and on. And she says she wants me too well. I'm still alone. I'm still...
She said she's got a time machine called sui generis. The Lazarus mode of administrative thought. The light is a prepubescent moth, young and willing. Which like me, i really don't give a fuck about. She's in my head, a supreme muse, nymph mode, i hit the sheets and stay under the waves where the water can't hear me with a pan maker between my legs. I hear the sound of motion, that steady and quivering child in my mentality brutalized and talking incessantly like a coffin rock, like...
Gather notion its only imperative to constructivism Your problems aren't problems at all Just an idea through organizational religion that I'd like to sever, and sew through your knees, walk on the world's hellish ideas, and excuses to have no mercy for my totems.
Mother nature is really pissed, Mankind is just a morsel Tempests only agree, fuck your rationalizations Society, groups and all you weaklings who find it imperative to need to credence in something other than yourselves,