PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

lost in myself i probably wont be found until Revelations.  Somewhere between numbers and acts i'll give myself the axe.  Ending it to find some sort of cognition mapped out in my mind.  relevant terms swarm gibbering babble.  as fast as my mouth can travel, my words will spin the gravel, groveling on the street, with your face in the sleet, you'll wonder if my feet can move me to be more discreet.  "be clever with your rhymes" "use your 'power' to create some dimes"  change, change yourself to get some change for yourself.  everyone tells me to, play out the hype, get inspiration from a pipe.  blown away, in more than two ways.  they should be put in jail for intent to kill.  a modern marvel of institutional genius  plotting against the conspirators to bring the axe down on the relevance of revelations.  two scoops of a hand me down ice cream cone.  runny and soggy, the waste is annoying and insightful.  frightful and delightful.  spiteful and riteful.  pass the traditions down like two scoops of trust.  embellishing movements with tidal waves of drama.  a well kept secret like a fetus aborted into limbo.  does ti have a soul?  does it have a consciousness, does it have a place to be in the aftermath of money or responsibility problems?  for what its worth, im sorry.  killing you wasnt right, making horrible fucked up jokes to put it out of sight, pretending i dont care, while pretending im not away  it really happened.  that reality is retracting remembering where i left off in my fantasy world, where my fantasy girl is a reality whore.  too bad she doesnt exist anymore, too bad i killed everything that could mean anything to me, and now i burned a bridge linking me to satisfaction.  a moat around me, if i could walk on water i'd be off of this island, instead of hearing birds laugh as they fly overhead.