Hello, Gemini
It seems your twin is in my bed again
leaving It's odor seept into the bedframe
and shoved into the pillowcases
underneath the stuffing and between the casings of virginity
Foul.
The only word with one syllable that can be used to describe dear Gemini. The king of linguistics, and the royalty that is pain.
Two twins, though not the light and darkness, but rather, duplicates of foullness.
Twins of equal despicable traits,
who invasively steal valuables
and sell them back to the owner
at twice the price
Who is a chameleon, shifting to fit the perspective of its new owner
Foul.
Good Morning, Sagittarius
It is you who's bed I wish to seep into
like dear Gemini hath done unto mine
in the waking hours of the cold dawn
where the concept of time lapses and breaks, un-malleable
You, the archer, the Centaur of hope, who's bowstrings house the lace in an equines coat, transporting gentleness onto those who get shot
Gentle.
The angel of linguistics, the pure-pred two syllable word that can only describe those born under December, amongst others.
The archer of equos, who's arrows are doused in the poisons of kindness
Perhaps the Tulpa of Sagittarius is Gemini, for Gemini herself is her own evil twin.
Gentle.
Good Evening, Capricorn
Who's potent narcissism bleeds through vapor
and transends distance
who bleeds into the souls of men lost at sea
much as the goat himself
who strangles and chokes the already-drowning
Overkill.
A baby in the world of linguists
Three syllables, he murders the younger with his putrid scent
made up of honey not left-cooled,
and the singed hair on your head
when you were dunked into that boiling vat
of pretentiousness
A man turned to an animal with no Ego, yet built of ego
festering and twitching at the sight of fulfillment
The reflection of dead Sagittarius;
The version meant for 8th amendment ratifications and the Brazen Bull
Overkill.
Good Night, Aries
who's head-first anger propells the phenomenon that is "happiness"
Who's horns puncture
thise within a radius
of all but ten miles
and who's hooves trample words with horrid meanings, or some all-so pleasing
Agitated.
Four Syllables, now
a Ram built from the wrath of past oppressors, spun in the web of those darkened varmint
Who've been punctured by thine wilding horns, grown too far
like the fingernails on a zygote
The childish ram, the boyish swine of a fuse cut much too short
Who does not allow any words into its linguist sphere, who yearns with the optical illusions placed in front
But he knows better, he does.
For Gemini is foul,
and Capricorn is fixated on Overkill
Sagittarius, the savior of the stars, burnt out from self-exhaustion,
houses words far too soft
built of whispers and sugarcane
is the one who destroys agitation
Rock, Paper, Scissors
The archer beats the ram, for his arrows, doused in kindness, have punctured the novel-barrier
which could not have been strangled at sea and drowned by pompousness
or kissed by two faces of Beelzebub, under a cloak of facades
Or eaten by the Rams own maw
The other constellations are nameless for now
wiped clean, undiscovered, Columbus himself giving no mercy
to their biographies, etched into the sky, thousands of years old
Only the Ram, the keeper of barriers, can give these signs their names
and their words
all of varying syllables.
