Release the red balloon and watch it float beyond. It seems the end is soon at the hands of a homely god. I’m openly arrogant, proud, and prodding at the beauty nerves. Removing curses takes a lot of energy. It could be worse. This music is moving, but it reflects no pain. It deflects the strain of movement, but rejects a human brain. It flexes creepy muscles and caresses people’s bubbles, With a vexing, minimal contact method stresses seem to buckle. Up, up, under the beads of sweat that fuel this sentient computer. Better bring a better interface, less it rejects the user. With a keyboard tap and a mouse click, I open an infinite vault. It topples off of the top of the world. While the simians stick to a cot. These chains, these chains, these chains are fucking dragging on the tile floor. With a wild roar and a verse I’ll bring a tear to your eye like a child whore. Crippled and climbing a mile more toward heaven with a lottery ticket. There’s onyx on the picket fences. I’m sorry that Pop couldn't get it. I’ll bomb it and bomb it again with a palm and a pen I’ll scrawl my wit. And paint the world with an open and beautifully bleeding heart until the stop watch clicks. And stops in its shivering tracks. I’m consistent delivering raps. Here’s a fresh batch, frigid and wrapped in plastic. Real spitting is back.

I'm repulsed by them. They're repulsed by me. They convulse inside of the screen while I cope with my flightless wings. The sheer size of the thing that's crashed into the planet is staggering. The fragmented matter creating massive caves and cavities. The battered brains of imps and trolls succumbing to simian written scrolls. Screaming fanatics wreaking the havoc on everyone living betwixt the poles. Ripped a whole in the intro-verse. The introverted turned extroverted. The lesson I'm learning is lessons are never the answer unless connected to current, Data. My mind is 99 terabytes when I stare with eyes that Barely identify what their iris sees. Like trying to stare at a virus, Please, my mind recedes into the night and creeps beside the trees. Like a feisty weasel dreaming of finally finding a bite to eat. Ride a bike to the beat. Leap from the top of a waterfall. Reap the grains before the competing beavers go and farm it all. Make sure you put your armor on each morning before you absorb the enormity of the boulder roaring toward the front door. What a horror scene. Innocence, nurture, nature, choices. Interactions, skin tones, eye color, voices. Intermittent chaos, order, serenity. Venom-filled victors spread their energy. I wish to murder them. They wish to murder me. They currently burn at a thousand degrees and use their skin as currency. They approach things with an urgency that makes everything seem like emergencies. They yearn for things that don't exist with a sickness that reeks of absurdity. I suppose it is absurd of me to try an use pieces of eight. To pay for the beatings I take and the pieces of me I leave in the wake. Scream and shake in a cliché' way. Beat em when they pay or when they don't either way. Screech like a panicky banshee. There’s tear on the canopy I can’t see. Aim for the man with senseless grin. It’s a grim thought yes, but it stems from the man within. I’ve been depleted of mana for so long, I don’t feel I’ll get another chance to begin. I ran for the fence when I danced with the wind. Answerless and cancerous. Glamorlessness rampant and I’m good with that. I handle it. Handle-less I overheat and shoot steam from my eye sockets. My nonsense takes the reigns and seems to result in a light wallet. My thoughts are the by-product of hysterical men with a laser cannon. This micro-anger-management seems to be the state I’m damned in. Innocence, nurture, nature, choices. Interactions, skin tones, eye color, voices. Intermittent chaos, order, serenity. Venom-filled victors spread their energy. Belief systems, prejudices, fear-based, awe-stricken. Blood red, lily white, bigger than all religions. Immensity, monstrosity, belligerence, far-gone. Mimic-mouths, gasping trouts, everything the stars watch. I’m disgusted by them. They’re disgusted by me. They’d be pleased as punch to see me stuffed in an oven and smothered with butter and grease. And cranked up to 300 degrees the doves have ceased to flap and flutter their wings Against the massive rumbling building up underneath. But what? And because of who? I don’t think we’ve been introduced. What cold bitter view from a minimal room overlooking hell, I get confused. I miss the abuse that I dimly dished out. I think I’m owed big when I stick my lips out. My hips have rhythm and continue to sway with the beat till my heartbeat ticks out. Then it all gets weird and the cycle replays. We’re born. We die. No whys in the way. It’ll size you up and fly to space with your soul in a bag and your eyes so glazed. Bury me please. Bury me deep. Bury me quickly. Add me to the heap. Sadly I peaked when I did a bunch of acid leaped through the air like a rabbit that bleeds. Bad little birdie with a cast on your wing. Fascinating what’ll happen in time. I’m dragged back to the back of line where I skipped ahead in the shadows at night. I brought about the cattle’s demise and rode the waves of a thrashing tide. Passion is a pit of ghastly glass in which I have to dive. Innocence, nurture, nature, choices. Interactions, skin tones, eye color, voices. Intermittent chaos, order, serenity. Venom-filled victors spread their energy. Belief systems, prejudices, fear-based, awe-stricken. Blood red, lily white, bigger than all religions. Immensity, monstrosity, belligerence, far-gone. Mimic-mouths, gasping trouts, everything the stars watch.

Pain. Windows. Looking into rotten souls. Listening to images and staring at the audio. It’s picking up transmissions. Look at the land ridden with man. Pitching a tent, looking to camp in it. Look at the damages. Look at the moral decay. I shed another tear for the floral array. Born from the same blood. Born from the same birth. Gazing at the formula and orbiting the grey earth. The core of my anger emits a string of demon spit. Forced into labor by my needs and my greediness. I need to reequip. I need to sequence this, Into a pattern I can understand without being a genius. I need to form a brand new genome. I need to roam a land full of phantoms and evil. I paint a poem so potent that it fills a vacant hole, Where I go to sulk and spelunk in my cave of woes. Baby it’s a maze. It’s a mother fucking puzzle book. Life’s a crooked lover with its hooks inside your stomach. Look man, you’re shook man. Vibrating and flaccid. The world dances round you with a sound that’s orgasmic. I feel the spirit’s absence. Now that brains are broken springs. Full of smoking, charred remainders laying on the broken dreams. Launch a seed into euphoric openings, And hope the thing grows to adore YOUR dreams. Lions and pious ones let bygones be bygones be bygones, Liars, leviathans let bygones be bygones be bygones, Riots and giant pythons let bygones be bygones be bygones, The fire inside is strong. Let bygones be bygones be bygones.

Feverish flows. There’s a bee in the cap buzzing out the keys to sequence I know. There’s a key to the flow. It’s mumbling it’s protest under a breeze as it blows. My feet are so cold I need a winter cap and clean winter coat. The dreams of the soul are important to unlock the meaning of the whole. I was reading a scroll it unrolled to reveal the face of the past. Laced with gashes of white and red, shake away the genocide and climb into bed. Head dresses and eagles flying. Wake up in a sweat from a dream that I’m dying. Lips peeled back over teeth that grind away at a smile of the evilest kind. Shake away the sleep while I redefine. The sneeches that creep to the reaches of my mind. And hopefully that sleeping beast will gnaw on pieces of demon spine. I’m flawed, I’m fucked, I’m willingly distracted, it’s apparent when they’re filling me with action. Can’t step into my brain without feeling like an accident. What’s worse, the passion or the passionless. I awoke to the lion’s roar, and ate a hearty breakfast of diamonds and iron ore. The fire in the eyes of the lord of the flies is snuffed and survives no more. This vibrant floral arrangement sends me spiraling into orbs of amazement. I was born to taste this. The chorus of the chains that clink in the night while the scorned just take it. So bored by the dormant and makeshift. Slapped together rotten boards and taped it. Absorbed little basics contained in the cycle, as forward the formula rages With an aura of patience. I claw at the pages like gods that painted. Lost in the matrix, I skip across commas and babble and froth like a sloth on a crank hit.

The ugliness is juxtaposed against the young in muddy clothes, The potion chased with scummy mop water below my nose. The moment's gone. The open wounds that flow down tubes and soak the bones. The ghosts learn to hold the living close and haunt their holy homes. I think I understand the connection between me and this land that I rest in. This place where I can jam my bed into space where I can take off for a second. The weight alleviates my pain and I’m trained to thank the weight. Just crank away at the handle of fate until it breaks and I don a pasty gaze. And I paint like a limbless schizophrenic and lay claim to the bits I’ve collected. It’s ugly, it’s pitiful, it is pathetic, and credit is due to the new epidemic, That moves through the room like a shrew in a red dress. The moo cow’s shredded to goo in a second. It’s evil, I know, but I dance in a head-dress on graves of the past tense, missing the message. But futility is so fucking depressing so militantly I give up on the good guys. Zooming to new highs and lows and choosing to die with a music reprise. There’s blood on the floor, my lungs are punctured. I can’t run anymore. It’s coming toward me at speeds that exceed the norm and force me into uniforms. Fingers emerge from under the floor boards and orphan the babies that cry in the cradles. My pride is unable to make heads or tales of the survival enabled. So I dine at the table of life and try to find in the fable a light. But it’s funneled through tunnels and muddled by muddy banks, so I’ll just bite through the halo and die. The ugliness is juxtaposed against the young in muddy clothes, The potion chased with scummy mop water below my nose. The moment's gone. The open wounds that flow down tubes and soak the bones. The ghosts learn to hold the living close and haunt their holy homes. Cells divide, collide. Off of the belt outside the assembly line. Delve into the depths of the mind. Never decide which is heaven or life. It's all a mirage unless I've been caught in the paradox of stress, Versus safety and laziness. I melt away and they mop up the mess. A puddle of flesh in a bucket of bones. Under my breath a rebuttal it grows. I can see it above the trees now. Leave now on a shuttle and go. To the solar system's outer extremities. Phobia ridden, homely and giddy. The simian roaming the potholed city controls only an ounce of destiny. Arm yourself with a Gatling and batter the battling bastards who grab for your hands, And pull me through doors of illusion. Contusions, a human battering ram. I ask who I am. I'm denied a response. I'm Link. How many lives have I lost? Aiming at Gannon with cannons that slice through the landscape like it's ice cream soft.

What a mess. Dark matter. The patter of innocent feet. The rapture is beginning. Something bad that I’m beginning to see. Grab the holy water splash it on your forehead and your hands. Leave the bordello in shambles like your nothing more than a man. Panic-stricken flows. Inner vandalism grows. The edge of this fucking blade shimmers till the handle hits the snow. And the rubber walls bounce against your ever bobbing and throbbing skull. My folder has grown to homunculus. You can watch it grow. We need more rain. The seeds are seeming to scream. They dream of a sea of sweet nectar. The run through the streets on their feet. Tremors in the backs of mind. Reactions from my shattered spine. Laughter dies twice in the same night with a scene I’d have to rewind. It’s just a matter of time, but the matter of time is enormous. Form an abnormal form I took when I happened into your orbit. Captured in the earth’s snare. Trapped behind a cursed stare. There’s an urgency behind the manic masses and their murder glare. Perverted mayors and greedy eyes. I surf across a dreamy sky. Eennie meanie miney mo. I forgot how to speak, but I learned to fly. Pull me through Roland, I’ll make mince-meat of lobstrosities. With two fingers on each hand I’ll fight like a mother fucking god, when I drop the beat. There’s people in the basement and they’re creeping up the steps. There’s leaking in the basement it’s seeping through the cracks. There’s movement in the basement and it’s screaming like a bleating pig. There are pigs in the sheep pen and farmers who don’t seem to agree. Open-heart. Cut me open. Prose in the dark that must be spoken. Muddy underbelly with a swollen melon. Trying to get this rudder in motion. Close the market, there’s fungus growing. Close the park, there’s a bubble popping. Did some someone mumble Monopoly under the sound of a bomb coming and dropping. Boom. It hurts so good. When you’re dumb and numb and used to pain. What a beautiful way to move for the sake of moving when the cartoons escape. The loony bin. Loony bin. Mentally ill and medicated. Heavily sedated glowing and floating toward the demonstration. Moment to moment living. Give a negative thousand percent. When women and men dissent against the flawed and wicked government. Where the criminals grin like evil tigers. Snakes, and thieves and cheats and liars. Demon kin with wings of fire corral around the meek and tired. Truth between these speaker wires. Underlayment made of bones. The sane go insane and make a last minute break for the main road. The pain grows at the same rate that fuels the drug games gold. Hatred rose from a grave we dug in the ancient days of old. Sacrifice your love to the conspiracy of ravens. The mirroring face we take in just appears so weird and vacant. It appears that the fears in the basement leering like cavemen. Cheer when their appearance fades into an eerie arrangement.

They've seen my soul’s surface and know there are dreams below. And yet they keep boasting their security features I need in my home. Fears are so palpable, fearsome and powerful. They've seen me cower below the mountainous peaks where all the hours go. Somewhere beneath the flowers growing is a unsettled fella, With one goal left to build a proper umbrella for Zella. I relish this sturdy shelter where my spawn can grown and play. And experience her growing pains without knowing I’m so afraid. I need a new game face to hide the constant bluffing. A titanium casing to hide the world’s softest stuffing. Baby gates and outlet covers. Watch my lover becoming a mother, It unearths new emotions and reminds me why I’m so in love with her. Luckily I’m experienced in the art of empathy. And I will protect both my girls even if it means the death of me. Responsibility creates chains, but it other ways it sets me free. I’m tasked with protecting a kicking screaming dependent being. She’ll ask me life’s questions and I’ll have to fake the answer. Like why is there genocide, murder, aids, rape and cancer? I don’t know. I tell her there’s beauty inside the xylophone. And even beyond the final note she’ll never walk this life alone.

I think I heard a footstep. Perhaps a murder just happened. This whole room is wrapped in a brightly colored pack of birthday napkins. And the first thing I remember is a three-dimensional closed caption. That floated throughout the air without a care of it’s ghostly actions. It spelled out the meaning of everything in one simple sentence. And I grimaced and furrowed my simian brow in an effort to make a bit of sense of it. I’m not stupid, just human, a mere variation on the species. Using the air to keep me awake from the sleep of death; those buried beneath me. So I poured over the text as it soared and I contorted my neck. The more it fluttered the less I absorbed it’s message, but I can’t ignore what it says. Each letter ballooned and popped, before I began to understand. And saw my reflection in the window resembled me as run-down man. Only the tufts of white hair that lined my skull were new to me, And I began to wonder if in the distance, a voice mumbled my eulogy. But what’s fucking difference between this and my usual habitat? The movement of tangible objects? The blue, singing, dancing cat? The hat that halts the aging process, when placed upon my head? The hat that’s kept me alive for eons, when I’m asleep in bed? That hat that causes nightmares. The likes of which you’ve never seen. Dreams that cause your spine to bleed fiery streams of energy. Each night I block out the process, but I know it’s gory and horrifying. All I need to know is I don’t fear the trauma more than dying. Death is the nemesis and few can cheat his game. So who wouldn't take a trillion night terrors to leave the race? Again, I’m not stupid, just another fear driven maniac. Protecting my magical hat with whatever it takes to keep it’s seams intact. Still, the message contained in the 3-D text eluded me. I feel as I’ve acted foolishly, though there’s no one in the room, but me. Or am I mistaken? Were the words a pre-cognitive warning. It begins to dawn on me slowly. The sky is filled with ominous storming. My mind is swamped with enormity. The formula loses its potency. And the more that I think about it, this force is still controlling me. All at once every synapse in my brain begins to lash out. And I frantically wonder what occurs each night in my 8 hour black outs. But as hard as I try to remember, it bends my mind out of focus. A swarm fills the room and my hat is consumed by the locusts. All at once the spell is broken.

The truth proves elusive. I talk in circles when I’m zooming. I am my own doom. Set my soul in motion, soul groove. I wander the road, lifeless, droning on about drones In a monotone that drives away the rocking boat. Should that boat stay afloat the water health will suffer. Slaughtering myself seems the option that would stop another. Fuck depth. I paint upside down in outer space. Clouds of rage followed by the inevitable depression sickness. Chemicals that wilt these petals. I’m real without Geppetto. I do a twisted dance of death on edges of stilettos. Seldom do I silence thoughts, I find the cliff and climb and drop. And write a boggling train of thought borderline microscopic. I fight the nausea like a pharmaceutical aid. Abel dodging slashes in a star cruiser with Cain. It’s hard to use your brain with abuse in the way. Loopy little paper plane when I get goofy and play. Zooming like a pitiful, vindictive resilient human. Fiddling with the movement. The fetus was pulled from the womb. Freedom in the room oozed away like a pocket of porridge. Foraging in the forest for a locket so gorgeous. My eyes are ripped from their sockets so gory, what a metamorphosis. This metaphysical force is just so enormous. Flee from this land of catastrophic decisions. The constant tragedies just coming and dropping by when they visit. I lost my eye to the wizard. I lost kindness in the blizzard. The dryness swept over me as I resign to the ditches. I got a mind full of stitches that make me smile and grimace, Simultaneously. It’s my own kind of primal sickness. Rewind the remixes of time and slide into the metronome. The kind of light so bright the knives won’t leave your head alone. Kneed the bread and lock your home. You’re dead behind the dead bolt. Grip the wire tighter than you ever have, then let go! Bleed. Drone on, crawling on the floor. Go to sleep, lying on the gears. I can’t breathe underneath it all, We crawl. Dig through sand that fills in holes, It keeps my hands in motion till the morning. Stumble through the mud while the rain comes down, When the rain comes down it stays until the morning.

Spew fire. Pull the rip cord. I rip chords to pieces. Emcees can’t afford to eat this smorgasbord I’m speaking. Uniforms and leaches suck the life through pores and orifices. From their offices to the porches where the morgue gets more and more kids. I’m born again. I've shed the layers from my infant eyes. They minimize the size of pills and digest the fist inside. And rid my life of critical little needs and wants and breed in swamps. And all I see are trees screaming murder as the greedy hogs, Laugh and smack their bacon backs. This steak is black, take it back. I asked to razor the slab off myself and satiate my wrath. This cave is made of paper backs and hours spent in vacant paths. This avenue is skewed by ashes made by wavy, blades of grass. This happy son is raging mad and taking on the gods and titans. Jaws of lifeless dogs fall in piles on the dawn of violence. I claw my way to mountain tops. Olympus in my mortal sights, A portal of light amidst the horrid, normal, boring life. This is derivative of the mimics of the mystical kids. Sequenced in a dream I missed. Sequined with the crystal chips. When fingers snap and smoke emits we focus where our focus is. Focus in on this world. We cope with all this social shit. The gold's not important. We can't take it with us. But you can take some pictures and explore the nature within us. I walk on shoes with no soles and the rugged, jagged rocks tear through to the bloody bone. This muddy road is flowing downhill. I slip and fall Into abysmal little crevices and spill into it all. Paint me with acrylic mimic my image on canvases. A band of sick natives lay this sacrifice in bandages. Gather around and hear the chatter of townspeople. Traveling around this round ball I've found peaceful sounds. Surrounded by a see through wall that lacks purpose. Poorly supported floors fall into the black furnace. I hear the cackle of persons tightly gripped in god's hands. I've see blind men wander through the foggy lands and drop lamps. Stop the stampede this damned creed you've got is out of touch. Making faces like you're used to people calling out your bluff. Packed with insulation and stuffing. The muck under the sole-less shoes soon reduced to nothing. The gold's not important. We can't take it with us. But you can take some pictures and explore the nature within us.

I've sat in a room alone staring at backs of posters. Imagining emotion channel through the brush and splattered over. I stare at the three remaining leaves on my tattered clover, And stand in line to rest my neck upon god’s shattered shoulder. Scraping up my thought pennies. A verbal plasma donor. Catacombs of human nature carve us into laughing soldiers. Walking through the bones. Ravaged by the cackling vultures. I think I’m just about high enough to start acting sober. The pigs happily roll over. I get tapped on the cold shoulder. We’re all mad at the stone throwers and casual pageant goers. The reaper’s sack bulges. The time for petty chatter’s over. The flash floods have ravaged what was once beautifully crafted sculpture. Your back contorts in fourths and fifths and snaps at the shoulders. Evangelistic hoarders would like to have me gagged and quartered. Dragged into the morgue and made into a flag for the corner, And slapped by the coroner, born again as a badge for world order. I was born the day that Lennon died when I realized I’m dead inside. A mental climbing vessel rode a sea of light and mellow vibes. A bow upon the cello slides. Men will die for empty pride. Others die in senselessness and wetten up our heavy eyes. We can never find the “why” amidst the sentinels and spies. The urge to level everything and jet into the sky. Jettison a flying car and settle on a shiny star. And friendly blast of fresh air can pet my mind and get me high. Revolution nine will be televised and hella-hyped. Sell the farmer in the dell the sky and dry the only well in sight. Peddled a bike through heaven and die in a meadow where I can settle and dine, On pebbles and wine taking a pipe-full of Reggie or kind depending on life. A sip from this kettle is fine. We can make sense of this time. Bask in the scent of the pines I can revel in angelic chimes.