There be a stoner, a mighty old one, wrinkled skin, twisted toes, frail and fragile, as if a tiny little nudge can dismantle his assembled soul. He’s not a person, not at least now, may be once, but long forgotten. Now he is a shadow of a soul. He is fragmented so is his mind. He would talk you through rubbish and say nothing, but then when you least expect it he says the thing. Spec...
Sunday 1st April 2018 6:37 pm
The flower grew within, the fumes were fornicated. Bastards grew on paper, spilt ink spread their legs to the core of chaos. Thus the evil brewed bombs. You don’t see a shadow in the dark docile day. Only when it burns you can see your damned skin and the fire. The shadow of a truth turning grey, sat beside by the yellow day!
Sunday 1st April 2018 6:29 pm
It's moist, in either of the sides
Some surpass the water and some would happily drown.
as for me, I prefer to drink up.
Sunday 1st April 2018 6:27 pm
Thinking isn’t your game, anymore.
Wait for the next reflex to barge in.
Sunday 1st April 2018 6:21 pm
Blended is thy blue and sly be the cue
one flew over two,
resting in peace a few,
me and me and me and me and you.
Sunday 1st April 2018 6:19 pm