Lean on in and suck me to see, the error of your ways, baby
Don’t be afraid of the Impossible, Because I’m not, never was, really.
The one that you show shall be
The love that you make – afraid of all these wander-some things, ringlet of bejewels nestled fierce abruptly near
Her foxy alignment of rusted RED copper-faced hair.
Goodbye great riddance, Mr. Rain – you are the minus to my subtracted attraction, and we are all of us catching upon all kinds of blasphemous fire.
You and your friends in boxes of Zen – the black to their bridge,
the ridge to your left, and the Pegasus remains
Under-appreciated and contrary to Rosemary’s unpopular belief she thieved it all away
And pink is the thinking girl’s colour so it does seem to be –
And we will drink it oh so very softly,
inescapably within from the other perched lover’s over-empowerment.
And an amalgamation of crazed adolescent over-development wrestles itself gregariously midst this misleading ineptitude for sordidly set misbehaviour – bracing what’s b-r-a-v-e and looking for some lock-eyed action over here
All awhile it leads her from plain, pain mundane til our sophomore names are drenched in make-believe mud
Again and a gain.
Been taking its customary toll,
safe to stroll on in and freeze and frame – freeze-frame – our sellout brains
Midst this twisted, detri-mentally dishevelled argument bolstered in-between the typified breeze of the Irish Sea and Say –
That she is obsessively com-pulsed and she seems to mean it oh so very well –
Especially today, the cursory day of bargain-basket prayers placed desperately alongside these corrupt misgiving’s again, and so soon as our juvenile lips twist-to-touch-to-kiss …
The broken breach of the bread of the Sun/Son. Let us take a look at the brand bland new orchestrated future together, forever, perhaps…
Continues with it, this pen which will shadow-box and push itself farther, nearer, narrower, furthermore against the glistening surface til perfectly parked at gracious pace –
Away from an insurmountable amount of permitting poised parchment paper.
She leans on in and savours the motherf*cking f-l-a-v-o-u-r.
Remember it well, people in-love get everything wrong.
Therein lies the right kind of failing and we will feel it all til strained ‘n’ stained in red-ribboned pink via being undeniably ego-driven arisen to arrive –
By the gild of her remarkable eyes.
And recall to remember me all, please … for I used to be –
Your favourite best-friend, your best bothering boy-friend … your favourite worst kind of dedicated creative
‘Specially when …
I get to play at prey-pretend
With the makings of your manicured brain.
So you do know, only on purpose, though … I’m about to go global baby, and I do hope to Jesus Christ upon a backward standing bicycle that you Believe
That these mistakes mean Everything
End. Invest in the workings of my manic mind and the time is
All of it mine aside mild medication which turns gold to dust again.
Nothing to lose but UP>
You’re in-love with a perfect kind of kindly Psycho baby. Lean on in and suck me to See … the error of your ways
wE aRe JuSt AbOuT tO kEeP eAcH oThEr Up AlL nIgHt and my right hand is free