on a normal summer's day, birds lash out squeaky tweets. Withering away the temperatures of two simultaneous hours, and the battle between worlds unfold. disturbing the tides of time and deceiving the mantras of sight, a joint is lit.
these scene was, heartthrobing, scale dancing, fake thriving , and depressing these deeply pressured nippleeess, nibbling these unruly thighsss with my teeth. selling uncomfortable symptoms of love, and illustrate the taboos.. damn, I even look like Malcom x with a durag. i'm negotiating with your smiles for the boy to collapse not, conflicting the vagueness in my intentions and my attempts of falling within your void. " let's take it slow" you'd say, what's real was real and you had to hang in there, believing in unethical illusions of beautiful convictions, and the blunt believes in death now. Let's restart, let's roll another one.
disturbing the tides of time and deceiving the mantras of..... arh fuck! how low can you go? cheesy lip line and sassy fantastias. what that tongue do? It can speaks depression out of fines yes, it can sell wings to a bird yes, it can dance to esthetics with no fears yes. tell me, what can that tongue do. the manifestation of the stages you pass and the interrelatedness of nothingness to shallowness , I believe in digitals. places plus faxes, the excretion of dopamine, euphoric reversal and when the ash tray fumes.
what would you do if I kill myself tomorrow?
YOU ARE READING
CONSTELLATIONS AWAY FROM REALITY
PoetryA self-entitled declaration of unwanted feelings in monochromic sarcasm and jotted down ink.
