Take a look in the mirror, that’s the only stranger you got right there, so wake up before the danger maims ya and you’re caught by the witch that is Blair. Wolf in sheep’s clothing, invisible, but your weary eyes remain open, dilating in a never-ending stare. Mutton dressed as lamb, from the horse’s mouth, but you need to allow it for the sake of the bairn. Ninjas in disguise, and the ducks head south, terrorists cuckoo, in flux kudos clans, masked in black instead of white, misunderstand. These females dressed as manz, sex in transit vans across motorways, mindsets fatal, it’s between the lines in these abstract times: neo-natal, ideas c-sectioned and justice miscarries faith fam. It’s the end of days. Oh my days. Qayamat is coming your way. He likes it my way. Usher says. Hush. Torah bell tolls, sermon from the Bible, azan from a minaret, we were once favoured disciples and now look at which way each of us face: countdowns timed to jets. Once upon a century, tied to the same race, towards the same place, we sat shoulder to shoulder, man to man, soon to be standing arrogant and fully disgraced. Read the words before you judge, understand before you smudge a character’s stance, unethically cleansing truth as defaced crimes of the State, trying to wash blood from your hands, it’s Lady Macbeth at a glance. Maybe God is the sky and Eve is the land?
Seeping, creeping ends of the earth not sure if the craziness will prevent my hurt, snookered, losing the battle against this bone idle cattle, settling where it continuously flames, I wish I could wash away the pain, getting rid of the stains on the way to my grave: just another second, just another wasted day, press play, stray angel led astray. It’s a shame. Endless pain, game, mind drain, aches, daze, never-ending frays. Slave craving free states, tittle tattle too little too late. Wait. Now they wake. Curvature eyelids in line with aperture lens. What you see is what they want you to see, you can’t even pretend to pretend. Standing in the queue, too many infront, too few to offend. Depend on charades and buttercups, daisy chained dandelions, blow on a seed, plant a tree on the moon, withering ocean waves enacting a pretence of the stallion. Cruel monopoly controlled by the elite, by the time you realise, it’s gone too soon and you’re in the process of defeat. Snakes and ladders, chess, draughts and ludo, target tiddliwinks because they haven’t got a clue though. Penny for a rainy day, silver lining fades, the future is a fable based on labels extricated from unstable faith.
Pop goes the weasel, cherry fell off the cake.