Very adultery query
2009
Alone at the loner stoner home of frights
I smell smoke and step a bit forwards
into to the tunnel of bright nights
with chocolate and him shining lightwards
I cannot rhyme with a stuffed mouth
when my stomach itches my spine
betwuxt theories I pendle south
when my putrid hatred declines
I feel my eyelids like iron gates
they fall as I bleed and suffer
I never can get enough of experienced fate
though I sometimes succeed, become tougher
Hang on to your teenage praises
With your hypotonic scales
telling tales about future pale and aging faces
—these were nothing but all empty appeals.
