Whole kith ‘n’ caboodle
That Prometheus pull in defiance of Zeus; f***ed up in whispers of well-wishing red, and she will proceed to ventriliquate his explosive soul
Gently, softly, vehemently estranged tick-tock boomerang clock; mother’s been working it our for herself yet again, whilst the cluster-f*** of merriment children works her Penny Farthing socks off
Forever plays catch-up/a backward standing bicycle doused in temporary delirium and with holy holes in each of them there invisible spokes
A dastard weekly early-am. flurried nutshell of utter chaos, hardly that comfortable anymore
Really, we should’ve shown the hands of our adolescent cards from the thickening beginning, till set themselves deliriously upon the wickerwork table where we shudder and think to fathom and eat some more
And, yet still, we do listen with marvellously mixed-up intent to bear the falsest of witness against
And let ourselves dangerously say it…
That we can and ultimately will make multi-flustered mountains from unforgiving molehills
Still here, how’s about right now and disregarding all of these decidedly important things?
Whip-smart and vivaciously real, it feels all kinds of multi-functional at being deceptively f***ed-up; and we shall inevitably, invitingly, continue to proceed midst the hardcore, sincere-most restorative angle of our juvenile angst whilst still carrying with us these undeniably hard-sought, -fought bragging rights of lonesome and alone ours
Wrong way round, indeed – failing at being beautifully freed
And she holds her far-fetching manicured hands over and at the far-reaching places wherein his handsome face fails to make any sort of successive sense; still artificially begging for its feminine-aspect self to stroll pointedly on in
Reminiscent to this resolutely perplexed movement of monumental yesteryear; till serenely beginning at caressing and manhandling till it all starts at sleeping fair soundly within…
The outside-looking-in
Of his markedly uncontrollable, margin-ably juxtaposed soul
About to remarkably, lastingly implode in full plain view and in front of all of our non-persuasive, pervasive faces
She insists upon this
To go against every single grain, yet still, he has to nestle and lean uninterruptedly in and ask her, but when ever, mother, shall that money make itself considerately fluctuate and rain…
Sweet incessant ribbons of red!? Begone with her head
The muse of many holds a whip-tight noose, and it seems to feel thematically real – one foot in, and the other one bleeds just the way it needs to be
She asked for his hand only he gave her the whole of his soul, so as for the words to explode till left themselves irreparably uncontrollable – perfectly placated till left utterly miserable again, the yo-yo effect that holds every single next one of his prisoner’s at unwilling will
This has been the bohemian upstart with multi-malfunctioning smarts at hand, whilst she went right it came down to his left to correct these silly little oversights
Extraordinarily well worth it all, it will fail to hurt the real reasoning for his pioneering being
It is in their unlearned, tortoise-like view, he is sure… like bringing kindergarten kids to the size of the cinema
When collateral people and their pointdexter vision of nothing else but for pointlessly prescribed insight anymore are nothing left but for beautifully prearranged damage done – ineptitude stepping-stones to absolutely everywhere but for them