Words are meaningless, you said. They get behind the meaning and get mad. So why so serious Sirius? How can syllables and parables gain your pain for attack? Tasting medicine should be more real than the proverbial, that’s a fact.
You’re my reflection of Sonic, I’m going to be honest, you make me feel sick, to the pit of my stomach, you rush me, hijacked, no prior warning, butterflies stabbed me, dizzy and soaring, calling and falling, ain’t no holla back, boy better know impatience makes minds slack, gushing wide open in collateral cracks.
I’m bleeding for your voice, not an AK47 Ace, venture me a coffin from an urban hymn, suburban slim, shady, so I can debate, relate, reciprocate a few particular things, a trip to the palace, ode to the company of kings, puss in boots smells fresh pink tulips, but how would you know, they’re over here in the kitchen.
Disguised in scenery, notes across battered screens, imperfect timing due to mascara’s tiring sheen, don’t get on your high– actually go, abscond on Pegasus’ feathered wings, quit blank firing, oh how fitting, broken birdsong con– temporarily flitting; jaw breaker, law maker, strawberry splitting waist destroyer got back up off the floor, you took back the axe and scribed my death, I’m a ninja no more.
And what? All for what, the slythy toves or the brillig, little lost Alice or the waist-coated rabbit but what can it matter when I tell them Daddy Mack, wait, Makavelli did it? He had the rage, and to be that good it took an age, he licked one hot, sneering lip overtook the safety cock, amethyst behind a bearded frown, point blank stared, dead out– bang.