No holds barred, and this untainted upon lending-pen tends to bringing it all rather back to life – the roundabout knife-edge which solemnly co-exists silent within

And we twist and turn our burnt-out brains in vicious collision, earning a piece of anything really

The spiritual gravity is killing me – wait-and-see!?

We are a disheveled army – sitting amidst the same sinking ship

Forever set to threaten, corruptly retreat, back to our birthplace only much more tethered and weather-beaten for it – and we need to breathe again
Pen, say when we get to make improper sense, please

Soon as our pretty, youthful faces lose magnificent grace and the real reality takes upsetting place – we are all of us trustworthy hiding from something peculiar indeed

The more superficial we do appear to be in the beginning, the less contagious we will manage to be – forever pushed forth-forward by all of these televised lies and worming our way out from under-beneath nothing in particular
Nothing indeed

Were these hip-flask handling, whiskey sipping ‘hippies’ correct all along, just none too popular for it?
Heckled at for their very own known to be inadequacy at being utterly
Different
Indifferent, more so

This is simply stinging yet no less expressively scintillating – a hope for a wanderlust dream for a comfortable future, wherein our deceitfully aligned minds find the irreversible time and our puppeteered smiles catch ‘heavenly’ kinds of rapid-eyed fire

All-in-line
Bust our guts from laughter, perhaps
Once in a blue moon, full noon’s been caught napping in the Spanish Armada sun
Set to soar

Sore to witness from a transatlantic distance

Boardwalk Empire, when will we appear to be away on a most memorable whim, please?

Wherein the shore implores our every next cutthroat movement, invigorated yet no less typified… and waves like crazy while inviting us back to life again?

Do not let us be our very own castaways, please…

Commercially speaking, a breathless ball became my next best-friend

Still dependent upon all of these money-driven lies, seems we’ve all been unspeakable, irreversibly paralysed and all we seem to be doing is dipping our feet in the corrosive Red Sea

 We are history, no more, no less