• Staking limitations on beautiful descriptions carrying my head severed into skies blue.

    But heaven, such is not small, such the journey may blow and tip mortal men into hellish planes, hauling artistic wise old, smiling beneath white stressed beards elongate into prance on floor tile checkered, into bowls of fleshy fruit for skull kings into downed basements.

    Spraying misty oceans marrying images of deaf stars with absolutely no care as the world of darkness takes them deeper, abyssal morbid motion, makes them sing no prayer as if their stitched mouths could not usher sound which forces interaction stimulating a toleration of what lays around.

    These distant dreams assembled together in light dots fixating dreamy upon the machinery, so complex as abiotic litany distributes pain medication that bounces off each wall in white cups for mental patients wishing a marry joy ride.

    And the sooth of slew of noise and reminiscent simple understanding lingering a beautiful pale face, such a face, which death does not dare compare itself in importance or hierarchy.

    Rather, the misery must write itself down, pressing keys in combination codes which intensely magnified heart stone pieces resembling visions of grace mixed hardship.

    My underbelly sits over a desk, as I watch through eyes reborn, no, only forgotten, these fairytale books scripted inside pink pavement jelly in my bottle cap that thinks for me.

    I'm tearing now from era filled of taxation by penance by a strict creeping up shadow that wishes to force my eyes on the past while all my soul strives for is only one more memory distant, but brim in its marijuana touch.

    And rather then playing with muse and crafted thoughts which never existed in what was called real, rather only the muse reflecting in both oasis and junkyard, ode to maelstrom reality switching this way and that.

    She plays me like an instrument, every rhyme played tragedy because of confusion over complex individual design, playing notes off key which unsettled her to leave.

    All while Evgeny Kissin fingers his machinery that able minds thoughtful in auras blasted off speakers in recorded beats which makes even air ripple dances beside notes, flowed outward from a gate of fourth wall.

    Rationing the fairy filled dream as eyes were still awake not viewing surroundings, but only a voided center that dazed memories, fleets of angel blooded feathers surrounded all vulture-like in formations above doomed head slowly slipping bare, waiting for messages of release whom never came through time's endless clockwork taunt.