antique bronze and me

tip it, fix it, we want the truth ennit, flip it, sick it, trapped in a coup in it, lick it, fit it, we’re the many not the few but, stick it, flick it, deleting politics redoing hit lists, milkin’ it, killin’ it, switchin’ up to clickin’ it, slick it, wicket, bowled by whippet snippets, allow it, admit it, you’re sick of it, standing for it, nobody’s listening to it, what is it, what time is it, ticking boxes for pundits, undulating intermittency.

listen to me, my way is the right way, follow my lead to the oasis, to the protection of the myriad of palm trees, seeking shelter in the wellness of being, in my desert of lenient belief, human kindness stems from a flower of Adam and god’s angelic deceit, biting on red raw meat, blood dripping sweet, from monetary teeth, of the most sharif dynasty, passing down divinity, secluded in a tree of poison tipped lanceolate leaves, caught up in privacy as mystery perceives crazy, wasn’t meant to be atrocity, it was never frivolity, trying civility, but it was infinitively lip sinking incredulity.

words slinking in stinking hearts, cut out of clouds, beating out the world’s misery, hold it to the sky dripping to the ground, like it was chivalry, departing art lost to tragic, magical military democracies playing out Dostoevsky’s scientific offensive menacing airstrikes, deadly nightshade, defensive reason, lawful treason, collides with unforgiving hate.

i’m sorry was always going to be too late, never going to let it be, so I disappeared to set you free, one day when the pain has completely leaked, you are finally me, you will see my muddy seize, lock, stock and Hancock powers that be.

ink is free, so...

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