I stand in a formidable stance tipping off my top hat to something flattering.
my arms are crossed so is my past. The striped color resonates a sinister fate to its tailor.
The streets run grey not red.with death and depression in the air, there's no one living better or darker than I.
I'd rather put the good cut off the bad then keep the bad in with the good but the good need the bad to stay good. For me, there's no one's foot in the past , present or future for Me there's just one foot in the grave or have I already I've stepped in it there's no dout that the shadows of the dead cream up the walls of your bed like the spider on my broach what is tightly fit to my collar they make me cry black tears , I can taste them they taste like white as white as you you or I can see.
The future reads a vile taste of bitterness
-but the past is bitter sweat as bitter as the street like the corset what beckons a grotesque tightness to my
teeth , can I see the sights of my sorrow oh woe oh woe , so please can you release my noose from my neck.
there's no future, past or much of a present this is phsyco this is phsyco and it's feeling to low no physicality partakes in this but just my strong mentality.