bashful

i can not apologize; this sinful view that coincides; desperation, wildflower; morning glory with a taste gone sour...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

im looking up as if in a dream, under water; a feeling i thought i once killed; bash the brains of another idea; with crimson flow and mine eyes aglow...this could get scary.
mother, your baby's crying...
lover, your love is dying...
all these obese adolesent pygmy addicts; one more time--- thats it, ive had it!; paint the view you'd rather see; doesnt mean that much to me...this could get scary.
under the red roof grinding...
teenage lust, keep on trying...
almost there, you see they made it; almost a care, like others fake it; lean the line and skim the prophet's; why unjust? 'cause god's a puppet...
running for that big machine...
close your eyes...
it was only a dream.

[junky]
ive got a voice; or what passes for one in life today. helped myself to a slice of the sidewalk to peddle my wares; so what if my "soap-box" has a login name and password?! i get that warm whiskey-glow feeling when set it down. seeing those pixels blink to life as if actually being born to stand in my sentence; to be part of my devious plot. just supposing that it does; where is the harm in that? my creating and then birthing a thought into electronic prose...? so what if i dont like the government, who cares that i am insulted by my representation therein? ...has this mutinious crowd forced a reaction? who controls who; the bull? or the matador? for while the bull charges blind with fury [only because his huevos have been severly lasso'd and yanked; yikes!] the matador must still move to avoid being skewred like a marshmellow

mmmm s'mores!