starve an artist, cover your trash
still balancing the bar, stiff-necked. withstanding change like a tragic
play or holy war between the sects. the carnival stands but the cities will
tend to move. like planets around a star, or water circling the drain? sould
less potboilers. avant guardian angels on the wrong page of the map. avant
guardian angel i am heartache, let me p*ss. still holding up the wall. still
life. a landmark placed for the photo op. he’s got no teeth, he doesn’t bite an
empire falls but the c*ckroaches stay to breed. is it superior genes, or won’t
death collect such awful things? yes it’s garbage, but does that mean that it’s
art? gourmet carnage, a pulse without a heart. if you leave it hanging long
enough, someone will be amazed and just because it’s personal doesn’t mean it’s
not clichã©. if it doesn’t look like something now, steal it before it does.
avant guardian angel on the wrong page of the map. avant guardian angel i am
heartache, let me p*ss i will be there to help straighten out the frame that so
proudly displays my own death certificate.