boy armageddon (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} fallingpisces) wrote,@ 2006-03-10 18:50:00 |
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| Current mood: |  blah |
| Current music: | Six Nightmares at the Pinball Masquerade |
new shit never slipped.
I wrote some stuff. I havcen't posted in here for awhile so I thought I would.
She had sugar cube lips crumbling over the torrent of liquid text slapping the concrete in a rushing tumble. She hasn't got much to say. 'cuz it's clear; no truth mucking the water up a healthy purple stain. Catty are her eyes sliced down a grey palate, and her brow ever furrowed like it been smashed down by a barbarian's mallet. She's got fluid curves like windstone graced with the body of Venus, the air to her is a little too tight and seething.
What have I got my self into? All of a sudden I'm in a head gear of iron bearing my eyes and mouth closed it cuts my face yeah it's that crude.
It's her fingers. And her nails are all chipped off. She got a good set of shark skin palms that tear my face back to it first layer. And I'll sleep through the scalped skull affair.
and this one too.
I'll write in metaphors so not to offend, that teeth that gnash and rend, my simple words apart and make me feel like everything I say must be censored cut and stripped. Down to a core that's a homonym of life spurting misdirection like small optical scythes. And I feel like their ain't no feeling left to the pianist fingers to the aluminum chipped frets. And while you got all the love in the world for me, Venus you have a damn white hot fury. Sparked by the name of synonym in vein named Aphrodite. But baby be calm; you just need a breath of fresh air; 'cuz there's no one no one no one quite like you. You're not going going going to marry Zeus but just this soggy flute, that bubbles out my name Neptune Neptune Neptune you've been framed. You've been shamed. But blonde hair down to her waist is behind you weaving the oceans into a revolting sapphire crude; waves slapping ships down no man no man no man is gonna wear the crown (oh yeah) of the Shroud (yeah) everybody's got a disease or ailment time to time to time to be a real god. No a rebelling clod upon the earth in plagues of pure spite; 'cuz it's a real riposte. It's the sabertooth queen's time.
M|Z
