A random collection of quirky tales

Walking around with nothing to do,  
got pair snakes hissing inside of my wellington boots,  
ladies and gentlemen,  
grab your guns sharpen your knifes,  
slit the throat of a unicorn,  
pull the trigger back slow  
whatever the cause of death maybe  
just don't expect it to bleed out a rainbow,  
let it gargle on colours, light your fuses, tamper with your primers, prepare for cries,  
please, please, oh the blood, is too like magical for our very eyes,  
even though the sticky blood might taste of seven deadly sins,  
when I've turned inside out and gone back the way that I've been running,  
everything all leads to this broad,  
who claimed to have changed her ways,  
got cuts on her arms that spelled out something hypnotic and strange,  
when she cries with fright her bosom burns like Sodium hypochlorite,  
she watches her T.V with the volume set down low,  
she's got this fiddly compass above her bed so her dreams know where to go,  
life's a migraine and I'm all out of codeine to chew,  
she says life is a fragrance but the most bitter full perfume,  
I like to take a hit of brown, and shuffle around this busy old town,  
your guess is as good as mine to regards of why I'm down, and out, but still almost about,  
on such a beautiful day, why is everything so grey, mundane, hardly worth the reflection of all this terror, heart ache and pain,  
I've been around for a thousand years and I haven't lived a single day,  
I may bury the hatchet, and carve my gravestone where I lay  
my addiction ignites when the darkness is coming, like a pneumatic drill thumping,  
it flushed through my dilated veins and keeps my heart rate pumping,  
she likes the silhouette of a wavy, hazy mirage,  
but she hates the headaches she get when she eats her lollypop too fast,  
nighty cries of crisis is a common tradition,  
my wounds speak a profound vocabulary but no will listen,  
I'll pound the ground to raise quiet whimpers of the dead,  
I will speak with the devils tongue the language of fear and dread,  
when she's bored she likes to fiddle with her mittens and this amuses me,  
such little odd eccentric traits when your drugged out your mind provides the utmost hilarity,  
as when I plunder even further away, plucking to a fray the seams of reality,  
shapes,  
sizes,  
proportion,  
composition,  
space,  
time,  
taste,  
touch,  
times deserting,  
fragments dissolving,  
twitching on a nerve,  
one shadow hand in hand with another,  
velvet curtains,  
sequins in the hands of the blind,  
noises under my house,  
haunted furniture moving in my mind,  
or are they ghosts of horses feet galloping in the old abandoned underground mine,  
nothing is lost, uncertain is everything,  
if I come down from this cloud,  
I'll hate to think what this winter will bring,  
sink or swim, paralysis of my right limbs,  
if I touch the ground before dying to fast,    
I'll flay my own skin and tie it like a surrendering white flag upon a splintered mast,  
and scream from the gut,  
a single white lily floating in a pool of blood,  
inside my body my organs are gathering dirt,  
I'm like flammable trash, but my passion runs deep like a isles of stars,  
red hot claws, ripped and scratched, pinkie silky scars,  
static, distortion, breaking apart, forever falling,  
if I end up back up where I started,  
I was just walking around with nothing to do,  
letting my mind wonder, letting my imagination loose.