beautiful liar wrote:Ricochet
hurts
unviable progress
gives in to today.
Tuesday
dawns
ugly and morose
reeking of night time.
fuck ugly wasted warriors upon golden chairs of empty females waiting for a whore’s existence paid by the fuckers who fuck the fucked blowing up silos of silence and clemency upon gilded shoulders of faceless upholders in green suits and baskets of bright red never equal out when every day upsets caused by shapeless drones redistribute reckless amounts of corpus noise and incoherent emotional panic which cashes in on the capital punishment created and marketed just for us and every other sucker sucking with a gun to their heads crying as liquid drips from sore mouths and torn wombs eaten away by moral decay of unprecedented violent violation and hunted by haunting hatred hewing away at the hopeful creating an utter void where hopelessness drips in like dye shading everything as it spreads like oil into the ocean coating us irrevocably with it’s dark gleam shining like smooth opals in the sunshine which burns until skin peels away leaving naked exposure to the horror of reality within our chocolate coated fantasy of crushed metal and glass glowing in gardens of Gethsemane where we get taken to salvation mistakenly christified in glorious colour and initiating warfare throughout the ages in a senseless multiplication of unknown origin distorted and vilified by pretentious leaps and bounds inside a judicial sunflower reaching towards a garish light hidden by clouds as grey as the ground stretches out ceaselessly seeking the certain end in a futility most familiar empty as the box I stand on in a riotous approach to attention surplus scored by those who do not suffer deficits and those who take the pills in a beautiful solution to a monster living under sofa beds and creeping through fields of brilliant brown boring as existence where we flail and scream and never make a sound searching for words to express the complete hollow between bones grown long ago in a forest someone had succeeded in bringing happiness was lost to all in a cruel fated twist of lemon in your coke replacing childish games inside a hued echo throughout the paranoid cave where I creep searching for you and searching for sleep but less the days and less the nights inside my shattered shelter like a child raped and left for dead at the tender age of eight unwise and unworldly until that moment of sanctimonious outside the park nothing is real except the swinging nooses with ugly blotched bodies swinging forth and back to the beginning.
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Serving Our Lady Peace fans since 2002. Oskar Twitch thanks you for tasting the monkey brains.