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One For The Beer I'm About To Have

everything gets lost in the details like the question floating by is it the details that makes the


painting or is it the portrait that creates the drip is it the beginning before the ending or the


ending of the twist knot in the doorframe knotted the rope sways hanging from the tree all


and every every and all branches spiral in the thorned call propensities desire the desire of


a proposal I couldn't do anything different because if it was different it would end up to be


knot three tied twice wiser than a devils hand sharper than snake eyes fangs bite the neck


it is the throat that bleeds ancient song of the piano keys some song again begins the end


no one really makes any decision for themselves all is play in the actaeon all is handful mind


control of the devil all is karma's punishment being in hell walking free amongst the corpses


in such great heights repeat song three finding happenstance happens to be standing for


infinities alignment of readjusting spineless fiends whom walk as if nothing could be changes


angles again couldn't find it more madness couldn't define the thoughtless serpents mind


between the lines just trying to find the espace hatchet for a crashing fall more lost than


nought more found within than trying to be the upper hand than trying to be the guest list


dated marksmen of the ancient throng finding all to be less than appealing and far more


disappointing moving through the motions movement eating sleeping waking death unto


a dream ever a distance away from the hand touching fingertips alignment with space in


spiraled spiritual sound and sound spiritual yet sounds missing linksys sounds at the vast


expanse of nothingness screaming into the abyss for echo probable engulfment when does


it end always just one more step never thinking of the future always feeling the past within


always aligning again never second guessing nought a question just action answer and quick


snap of response from tongues whom know they know nought more than what they think


what they think they know of eyes in the realm of emptiness what they want to be and far


from being theives will steal your soul and prove to you that you've never had one to begin


with before your face was felt underground by dirt molesting caskets wood real death like


masks beneath a hood like ever looking into the reflection of the face in the mirror and not


like ever breathing recycled air from people talking people talk and talk they do talk a lot


about things I'll never know things only if and o if i could be never once standing by the


way side throwing sand into the wind for sparkling flying dying sparks of life moments of


the soul bleeding through the sunshine reminiscient collapse for stars beauty its all the sand


lifted in both hands collapsed on the knees that you dont see falling deeper into the black


abyss screaming within to make a connection just to feel like you made a connection with


somone whom dost nought think with someone whom does not live for the mask they wear


like hideous abundances of wit and clever traps for frisky cats whoms tailspin spun out in


self worship you laugh like you feel like every laugh you deserve you place your feet upon


the casket your spirit has earned find thyself further away from me before the conversation


began before self walked self to the edge of the precipice to fall in before we conquered


burlington like two adventurers on the prow of the ancient ship of death longing for a trip


looking for adventure like we havent found it yet and everyday the same endeavour to wake


up and be thankful for a lasting epiphany something to eat besides a bunch of bullshit from


teens too tired to try to be something beyond the everyday beyond the mask the face paint


beneath the hood the slave of death call me satan bow my head ringlets lost for sonic noise


white knuckled clutch of grass for boys sprinkling sonnets of the collasping mind grasping


diamonds and crushing spines for ink to write such a golden mind such a golden time worn


antique round the pit of despair for vipers longing to be free for every laughing face staring


into the mirror within deep behind the eyes reflecting absoluteness of an abundance of not


to be near to theives in the cave of absent days lost to the mindless dews more time lost


being found walking streets the corner round where were you in central park in the dark just


singing to the moon where were you when we were on the bench again with a new friend


smoking for the height of once again we here find nought within and when shall you again


disappear into nothingness dust for ashes flicked and everyone of them loves less than I

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