They're Only Words.
Without the emotion that drives along our poetry they remain only words.
Everyones spitting gritting hitting shitting whimsical pastures of pestilential sepulchritude.
…Which is about someone spitting a dummy out and putting it back un-wiped in their gob.
The masterful mastication of the master masturbators morose onanism is entrenched entrancement
.…watching someone wank.
The subtle blossoming of intrinsic impulses hard wired hoped for knowledge arrives unbidden.
….Having a thought.
The subtle blossoming of intrinsic impulses hard wired for hedonistic knowledge arrives unbidden.
…Having a dirty thought.
Balm for the machiavellian mindfulness of the monstrous meat and veg of normality.
The empathic entity that ended enduring love beaten to submission by the baton of dishonest debate.
….Getting fucked over.
Twisting turning forever burning with the lost desire of uncharted stars hurtling into loves black hole.
They’re only words,
lost without the emotion of life.