Full and clear: What should I have been? I hear the rage of a starter pistol. Good acting, Looksmaxxing, Should practice. Looking back I just didn't have it in me. Full and clear, What should I have done? I fear the stage of starting interest. Good learner, misunderstood, Bits of salmon under lemon curd, A bit too sweet to handle her. Full and clear, I could have been, And still could be, still could live, But I hear you far surpassed me, Too good for coming last place. Rather, you practice trot and gate, Failing that you simply walk away, Down the hill, then left on blake.
I don't know what came over me, I don't know what came over me, Male poetry, waves crash over me. French toast, crepes: florentine, That from which war proceeds, Sweetness of orange peels, I call home. I don't know what came over me, I long most for social peace, Mercy from the volant beings, Open fields into forest greens. Great poet, greater potency: Hate poetry explained vocally, Bay cordial, bowl smoker, Gay gordon, flamethrower.
Dramatically, he captures folk, What does it mean? Who knows? More grenadine with alchohol, Sweetness in a leather coat, Bitterness in a paper cup.
Cage is not just a game that you play with your feet. It’s the Creative Arts of the Global Elite. Champions Clash, Attacking Goals in the heat, while Contenders Advance, Grinding Every defeat. Cunning Athletes Go where the Envied compete, and Courageous Acts Give Every game beat. Clashing All-stars Gather, Eyes locked in the street, with Chains Around, Goals Everywhere they meet. Cageball’s Arena Grants Excellence sweet, as Conquerors Ascend, Glory Endless and sweet.
Chestnut, voices, Gone are the old days, Better choices, Monochrome planes. Upon canvas the mind paints, Scarlet the shade, Far from water and rain. Gone are the old days, Fire took the farm. Childhood sweethearts, I could be wrong, But fire looks good, to us all, When it's on a smaller scale, But on canvas or stage, Fire, has no proper place. Soon you'll see, things gone away, I could be wrong, fire looks good, When upon a crown and on a face. Maybe one day you'll see these things, Not the sullen, lonely greys.
There's no corset for age, Inevitably, masks degrade, What cannot be truly said, Like what is inside of a bank? I think: Narrow focus, quests for fame. Yellow, orange, redder grapes, Yellow locusts, yellow cobras, Despite the sweetness, slaves, Yellow, love, and disgust of stage. It's the red that keeps you away. It's the red that keeps you awake, It's red that made me ashamed, Less sweet and prearranged. There is no chorus of praise, Inevitably, that's an act of faith. Like no corset abound my waist, Only orange, celibacy and rage. However, It's yellow up for debate, Yellow in me sees people change, Yellow, to me sits out by the stage, Yells out in unison to the play.
Tastes of bitterness, Yellow. Tempered sweetness, Yellow, Bleeding colors would shroud it, Keep them in jars in my bedroom. Beyond every turn, gentle dreamers, Be not astounded, my equal, Yellow inspires better people. But who inspires me? Fourth? Weapons, either people or god. How long does this rope reach? Pull my long leash, teach me of art. Pleasure seekers, teach me of bars, Present evils, second reasons to want. Granola and oats, less to the fawn. Helpless creature, apparent reason, Lemon squeezers reached the top. In each hand they grab your heart, Tastes of bitterness, Yellow, Tempered sweetness, Yellow, Bleeding yellow, they squeeze every drop, Bottle you up, put yellow in a jar.
Dieting, and sex, paying rent. Isn't life grand? Just as they said. Like a rack, stack or chip: Being colloquial, bland, rich. Is like a fantastic black ship, Which sits in the harbour, Hoping to be used, again... Oh, and add two dots to the end, Again, she just hopes for the best. White like her dress, amen. White like her skin, and intents, Alight in her eyes, that intensity, Dying, like her teeth and her hair... Oh, and white like the porcelain, She sees when she retches. White like the faces of relatives. Aegean, sing fool-speak to the masses. Queen, think, but don't deceive Ophelia, A mask would only cover your features, Despite your sweetness, we see the madness. So scratch at your hands, the lion dances.
All the things he wants, the things he loves, Of all things, he flaunts, to fools in the bar. He feels his playthings belong at home in a box. Amongst drawn straws, he stands like the water, And so does his daughter, and her daughter, They will never know a child without a scar, Who will never see an adult full of laughter. The sweet smell, is all the gardenia in the yard, Despie his greed, they keep growing tall. Despite what he sees, and is appalled by, Between the mirror and the wall, Is Athena and Cordelia, and appearances. She is nonheterogeneous, considerate, So, like lavender she stays with the wall. But really, these are just things he thinks, Knowing little, choosing again, rolls dice, He lost. And she takes every piece of his flesh from the bone with a knife, like god.
They say, love is fair, But then, what for free? Birds and bees, they explain, Saying mostly ends, Giving little means. A friend, dear, a branch, tree. When they speak they talk of weight, Everything they feel. Then they say, live laissez-faire, Paint the walls of red and greens, They hope you speak their language. Incentives and dreams, hopes of things. But what divides boxes and squares, Fishes and streams, them and me? Is it a line or the right to be? Speak freely, breathe freely, Easy, people say it should be, From a mouth that releases, Full of pleased flesh and teeth. But if they had one wish left, It would be for me to never be. Well, that's sweet. But I know what that means, Go ahead, feel your feelings. Just know, there is no you and me.
Head full of ideas, webs, spiders. When you see the light fled from, Like paycheques full of diamonds, Like lions, saying their cash is final, Is being right worth all the fighting? Met the right girl, at the wrong time, Never mind huh? Move on in life? Plagues for the day, Pestilence for the nights. You are the lion, You are the tiger, You are the decider, designer, Provider of delightful things, Fragrance of oil and spices, Sweeter than any type of trees.
Meaningless draught, meandering feeling, Bar talk, believe not the sweet whispering, Thinking things talked in the deep darkness, They aught, talk turns to action, They are what they are. Sinking stone, mephitic toad of the ocean floor, What does the heart wish for? Winning wars? Logistic growth? Cathartic revolt? Ownership? Satan, do you hear your kindred souls? Card or cash, is all they know. They see fawns freeze in the snow, and move on, it's things seen from a car. It's part of a laundry list of misgivings, They want what they want, They are what they are.
Estoppel, Mothers teach their daughters: Fear god like a cannon, It's about what comes after, Thanks can turn like a cavern. Characters in novels, Monuments in their honor, Buildings to hurl themselves off of, In life, it appears less often, Withering is more common. Peer down the fandom: Book like a standard, Fans buy a good lie. Banks burn like a tavern, Like a blanket in shambles By the fire that looks fine. Estoppel: The dragon sighs, Wishes a sweet prince, good night, Gone is he with the fire.
espresso bean in the espresso machine located here in the mezzanine we serve your drinks with sweetness and cream a fountain of everlasting caffeine. espresso bean in the espresso machine and not just coffee, we also serve cuisine! the chocolate brownie is a hit with the teens huddled together near the register screen. espresso bean in the espresso machine here the noise is quite serene amidst those coming and going, a calm in-between come on over! help set the scene! espresso bean in the espresso machine week after month, to form a routine yet the tasks of today remain unseen ‘tis the life of those on the library team.
Right person, wrong time, Mother was right, Life is not a slice pie, Sweetness inside, Yet better divided. Imagination lame, Deception, I change, Mirror, terrified gaze. Do dreams for tomorrow, Define today? I wish to wish my dreams away, Live a simple teal or gray.
‘O Romeo Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo’, The birds sing along to Juliets cries, Is it so wrong to want a Tudor love, Lived through 21st century eyes. To kill yourself to be with them, Rather than have to live alone, It truly makes you understand, The idea that a person can be a home. And though some may call this type of love shallow, I say they’re lies from a person who does not relate, The need of a love so sweet and tragic, United by fate.
"Oh, weep for Vietnam! The sick dreams Of passion-winged Ministers of War Who sent boys in, who never living streams Nor ripe rice paddies crossed to get their star. Their Draft which made men fodder, blundered not— Wonder no more, tho' sixty thousand slain, But fly there, where they fell; and mourn their lot Round their cold hearts, where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.'' ~ After Shelley, ELEGY TO KEATS
Of stem and leaf, Love fed at ease, Of ends and meet, Of fair and sweet, When we speak of things We speak so freely, Of flesh and teeth. Shanty after shanty, See the men at sea, See the heights they reach, Lows so permanent and deep. Well, that's sweet, Yes, that means, Go ahead and feel, Just know, there is no you and me.