If wasting your young years, brush away your tears and run faster than the speed of train explosions; past sister, storm, and candlelight; through Regret's cement, if only to skin and flay this moment a harming icicle.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Tuscan Leather know breaths to lick the ones and zeroes and leave the chorus girls on the tarantula headdress.
Poison in the night air/licking at a gravestone;/we caught it unaware:/however, the epidemic cast such a pall,/and, unfortunately affected all:/even this one red dress,/ held, yes, in my won paw:/ reddening and laughter-infecting my gaping maw.
Play with me, the bass for me, for I am running through a haunted forest as my blouse terrorizes what is left of the fragmenting orange leaves; yes, and let Fire smile as the chestnut falls.
Chameleons know misery because a mother's nipples are always in tunes of wavering nourishment: white clouds above the sea of ferns, rainbowing nature between black-out shocks; puncture a minnow if you grow off course: there are bullets in my cheeks.