Cryptic attackThe clay will do the killing while the air does the feeling, because when it blows it eats touch. Touch eating air has no appetite for sore skin and along with all the change theres been this skin feels no gust.Cryptic attack
A skeleton birth celebration goes hand in hand with elation if the right rituals are recited With the box copy of a reluctant son and the pathetic labels of fun its hard to be excited
Prevention is a survivability skill but one closed door too many and the realization is too late the darkest of unknowns hide in the same manufactured labyrinth thats been built and occupied
Certai
a want to build a home
a waist that birthed the one that sold incisions
a beggar for a bone
held deep in traffic light veins
his instinct to inject
carried frozen in tall-grass plains
his severed deal, reflect
the fake, estranged, and plastic gloss,
that coats the skin of gore
all that's tamed and all that's named prevents us from escape
like a chain-link fence that's made to steal the last life of your grave
call eagerly for residence
untied withering hands
in which all scarce pity is spent
we scream, we scream
for a shattered blank face
we die, we strive
for nightingale lace
and the longest hour observed
is the only hour lived
the end
to unforget the feelings and rememeber my lines
to my name, he said luck, to my life, he said soul
he fell to his knees with my time on his skull
bastard's whore, his mind is his fever
mystery, his hands that hurt
sanctuary, the blood he left her
she tossed and she turned in her funeral pyre
then she just knew that she had to lie still
or the embers she kicked would light up the fields
inside the feelings and the thoughts
his desert-master dies
he lives on in capillary
capillarian common-sense
deliver his doomed sanctuary
by a doctor's knife, deliverance.
unborn deliverance, pregnancy, and proper nouns
a steadfast beacon reach, an itch to call our friend
rotten, timid undergrowth proudly found its den
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