sharks can smell the blood of what I was trying cover up. wholesome lessons bellied up inside a broken chevy truck. she had the aroma of vicious cliffs and azaleas. maybe things would've ended differently if i called her bluff...I didn't. She transferred next smester. thought it finished. insecurity could be buried beneath my timid spirit. I was never much for greetings. first impressions always leaving roots of bitterness that seem last into the evening. Carried on by winds of doctrine, finding shadows where i lost em. I try to save the hostile inner monologue for trips to gotham. Guarding my acqauintences from often darkest corners. my comfort zone increasingly the quest for thicker forest. regard.less. bracton wood was bought and sold. its harmless. Open book. long as your questions end in dropping charges. I'm down to take you anywhere in oceans of my past, but these 5 continents are off limits. anchor up and man the mast! Seemingly open water now population bottle neck. mutation of my favorite memories death to my embarrasment. pirates of depression survival a test of fitness. My fam.i.ly a scylla, my relationships charybdis. former friends a hitlist, which interests my former enemies. jealousy. as fatal as attractive foreign coral reef. None of this however is as dreadful as it ought seem. my need to decieve is greater even than the moth fleet. Captain of ingeneous adventure from crows nest. he knows best how to stay in the cove that he knows best. Land Ho! that's the shore from where we left over an hour ago. this is joy of both discovery and coming home. nope. this is lie of expedition: positioning the ship the so the horizon is the mission, but engines in reverse so distance gives in to attrition. the tale is spun and i made sure the fishermen were listening. what i'm trying to say is this. maritime metaFORS aside. Whitely washed monolith. algae growing horns inside. Once a pupil now the driver weakness primed to finally die. i'll make up the difference in borrowed phrases and careful ties. If my worth is in perfection and my character's diseased, discretion recommends shredding the evidence that's up my sleeves. at best I can lure folks in debate and jabber lofty. posthumously demonize. get sainthood by proxy. host gruesomely recognize. confirmation byas fear. exposition into the melting habits of wax veneer. slip into the pavement where prying eyes never had a hold. folding to the pressure of style. AR: a certain mold. would you hold my hand if you knew the people that i have choked? would you have bandit as a dancing partner if he smoked? without the confidence to inquire of you aloud, The answer always assumed. This beard's always a coward's shroud.

Cold skin. Broken open casket made of chromed tin. stretching from his legs to the irish beard of a rusted chin. simple model persistent like his kin he could never swallow man without a mission he was not. a man could break with sorrow. that made him lucky. joints. sparkin' with a static buzzing. hush honey. stay inside. the beast that shines the beast thats hungry. The war had left a metallic taste in the human race. Mouthing curses at machines that history had not erased. his kind a dying breed that couldnt reproduce and now his vital juices leaking. wore their hatred like a suit. HE... breaks upon the ridge of the rubble. ignores the daring kids who scratch and bite to get the closest view of what he truly is. a demon. on A moslty deserted city block. ever since the toasters decided that they had had enough. It rained iron and brimstone. but when the humans survived, his legacy in ruins as the last of metalkind. HIs power supply was the pinnacle innovation. of the former world extinguishing cynical mother nature. He would live forever till he tore at eternities shores time enough for plowshares to turn themselves back into swords Lonely can't accurately scratch the surface of the iron adolescense hurt at the seeming lack of external purpose physical touch. the grand enigma. with which the ABstract. Friend or campanion could never be related to. he was the only and he was hated. solace from the fact that he alone would be witness to humanity fading his weapon of choice. disinigration through the ages. the monkeys would expire on grandest of modern stages patience is a virtue. but his victory was certain. first in line to the rise and fall of our collective curtain. the balcony built for one with his monocle catching infared time itself would john wilkes booth the men of blood and flesh. The last laugh. If it is in his programming. A particular grin at thought of a slow famine. Their hatred. permeating. corrupted his circuits. A near warm blooded hue. Our last breath. his first kiss. And with the long awaited death of placental mammals He took upon a mannishness defying the stamp on his panels. Gleaming. Chugging along in the same street Where the madmen first dreamed Silent as the dead machines. The sadness of killing the foe and his joy in a setting Of a cosmic age begetting him a sterile dimension He had hated an enemy right to its timely demise Only to experience a longing for liquid eyes. No one looking down with judgement. No one calling hollow threats. AaNo one to resent or fight or love means there was no one left. We are creatures of contact. To help or to harm. Sometimes the enemy is close enough at night to keep us warm. The lesson is this. That robot is all of us. Product of grandfathers magic Till we provided lust. Lust gave in to isolation. We are calling On your bluff. Ad You are not mechanic and we all are capable of touch. Shed your steel. Bite your tongue. Wake up late. Stare the sun. Embrace your weakness. Yell and cry and sing and feel and kill your lungs. Hatred leads to sorrow and regret is killing all of us. So when I say give up. My only hopes that you all give up.

Super heroes are finished. These days it's all pirates, like Ry was primed to hyroglyph the signs into your iris, or Blackest Night define the final Infinity Crisis. I'm resigned to watch the minutemen expire before their time is. Easy. Vigilant vigilanties are on the prowl. Siezing imminant symnetry is what he loved about sneaking out of his day to snag a stack of the latest freakzines. Gotham's the city where the heart of his mind is. Meanwhile, at any given moment, the dreams of his green ideas seemed to have all been stolen. While he was furiously asleep, they were being printed. But now that they they fit on his shelf he's trying to forgive them. Flying nightly adventures keeing him up a guessing, like none of the stressing pressures were fit compared to blessing. The only thing keeping him out of tights and in the risers: a mortgage, a belly, his children, and a fear of spiders. Comics as a grown man. Preferred the weather in a cityscape, maybe one that had never existed. Lanterns and the supermans, seemingly offering him better benefits, with secrets identities not as dark as his.

The pride of a little brother holding his head above the weather, knoing the bigger isn't bitter that he ws born better, forming the fantastic feathers and horns, a forum. Spectacle of tentacles is choking this decorum out. And pony boy was golden with rusted edges more visible the more i tried to hold him, wider the crevaces inched until I'm first to lose my footing. I dropped him and what i thought was rust, was actually my fingers preventing him from learning to buck. Pride aside, I recognize the fear of his ascencion. But a padawn, if given time, excells in one direction. Either repel or disease will infest him, protect or let wickedness test him, inseccantly pressed in an image, imperishability raising the questions like, "who am i?". In a certain place an time i could see me spittin' wisdom for the foolishly inclined. I am not what you were needing but I will speak if you wish, just know I fear the crowds rejection like papaw with his switch. ONE. An older brother born of shyness and rejection. TWO. A younger mind refined, deserving of protection THREE. I'm in the middle stoked and undeserving. Living FOR, the chance the world might die and live a little more. Future recollection of the distance, heavy handed, like a wink intended for the trilobites which never landed or the stink of idle piston start firing skramz in tandem. He's handsome save the scar and phantom movements in the mansion. Brother of Belladonna, a certain "keeper of treasure", spring was building pressure for him to abandon sweaters. Post-It notes, a canvas on which he would paint his letters. Painfully portioned potions, the poems he put together. Insanely incessant notions like mine were just whatever. Your warmth may take its time but I'm betting it burns forever. Loosely forgetting the cheddar for better or worse was the first of a lengthy, gruseome hallucinatory curse. The night t-t-t-t-terrors slowly grwoing in mass and weight. the fated restrictions of a born-again pst his stakes. The former faulty comfort in denying monsters their corners when Darkness itself was the reason we wihed nights were shorter. ONE. An older brother born of shyness and rejection. TWO. A younger mind refined, deserving of protection THREE. I'm in the middle stoked and undeserving. Living FOR, the chance the world might die and live a little more. Pity party rising from the depths of willful negligence, regardless of the cost effective burdens on my sentiment. middlemen were given as a pillar to my tenement. Community. The best devoured friendships for the hell of it. But neither of you were subject to such primal practice. instead of eating the poisoned food, you bit the arm that taxed us. MMMM, it tastes better to without our dueling arrogance: Harrowed since my vital open fist contrived a certain twitch. That was my heart, and Tron, I beg forgiveness. New creation. Burning hitlist. First assignment. Lonely witness. "You may call me brother now". Yes brother I know. Still, Lucy only goes where Lucy knows she shouldn't go. What care have I for death? or desert stillness, thirst to kill? You are the pilot, him the prince, I am the fox and that's the deal. ONE. An older brother born of shyness and rejection. TWO. A younger mind refined, deserving of protection THREE. I'm in the middle stoked and undeserving. Living FOR, the chance the world might die and live a little more.