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.
