mirror

nowadays, hit me up for albums,
used to be hit me up i would stick out elbows
arm in arm darkest road darkies stroll,

where are we going, who knows?

two of those if we kissed, we was slaves
to a new thing, healing, revealing peeling, appealing
back the layers, back to back laid up, matter of fact stayed a.
float with more weight than, a bit more... wait nuh

the epilogue, lemony lovingly had it written

funny feeling where the ribs hit 

i mean it could be the one that i miss

mist, early mornings on the lakeside.

but it just is what it has been. and it might just be what it is
sands of thyme and i do know that everything has a season in,
so stay sunny for me; reason being:
love is constant even when it's not stamped.

Return to Sender,
Sincerely,
Me.

Track 11

i live in san francisco,
i live in san francisco.
i live in tokyo, seattle, los angeles, istanbul even,
because when the earth quakes, i become one with the fault.

solemn solace

and it may be that the divine is too pure for the mortal. 

asylum

the last time I existed on such low frequencies, only solace existed with me 

imagine

I imagine your soul, a dancing spirit. Pirouette, prance, glancing over a baseless lake, laden with lilies. The conscious stops the music, your hues still spin around and around amounting to the mounting mouthful of expression, especially when the lights are out. aurora, an aura of, an author of, arguably the most tranquility arthur has had. 

14

more sighs than smiles 

V

black

(loonar)

250,000 miles away, his shadow still fits perfectly in. at least the moon shows ivory. His smiles few and far apart, occasions for such niceties even more sparse. at least the moon shows that thin crescent of white, on either side of the cycle. pitch black if he sits back, sifts back, patterns of ills wherever he rests and thinks at. rooftop, knoll, porch, stained glass, pane everywhere. at least the moon shines bright, like, its the very center of his universe. accurate. his animal spirit if you wish. too similar. dark surfaces, disillusioned to be light and, gravitational pull, causing tides and, bare all, nair side, tuned out, pharcyde plans. he in his pensive feels like 4.5 million years of sin, about right. silent howls, calling out to better, higher, bigger than him. time is running away, each day, each night, 18th, responsibility and decisions nigh. ethereal how connected he feels. ebony, ivory, he smiles at the familiarity. dark side, lost cries. 

perspective

 

w

Dont shoot me down ma, 

Because I cant exactly expalin the ills of the feels of the eels that slither around this decision. Quick, sliver another line, the one youre threading on is far too thin, have you ever thought of the falling off? The fall is on like another summer waisted in your own tissues, wailing like free nyky! O'nion, nights are longer but that still dont mean the stars align like Orion. Old iron, these bars are aged aches the heart to know of such. Steady pacing waiting, wake me if parole's ready. sentence after sentence intense more in depth more indebted to myself.. i've said, screw it all, what's the sense, nothing is write like all typed, succumb, surrender. God as a witness there is hope. 

the unreal. One in a million, 7 billion, resting as if everyday was the seventh. Work. 

Reap of it. Reams of it. Reek of it. Leek of it. Third eye back to this very night, righting this very wrong, and ridicule the past ills of the feels of the eels that slither around the decision... That i took.  

what exactly are rules?

Coin vol. 5

Not face value.

The rose, the quintessential flower. The face of things of (the heart). The color of love, the color of blood. Pain and content one in the same. The most familiar and with time grossly underrated plant planned by God to be the face of the garden, i see God in ya. The sign of the valen- times, valiant effort to quell the mutiny, muted angst and amped frustration, the flora is negated. 

Cue the Canna. He likes things 'different'. Volume 2 of the minikui, strange fruits hanging from the edge of his wavelengths. Self centered and misunderstood. Self-served into his likelihoods. The weird appeals, then fear of being too opposite to act as if he operates in the realms of the normality. Thought, manifest of the the same. 

Lillies and orchids and lotuses and tulips. All flowers, all to leave (this earth for). All striving to be, the most uniquely described, the pommerac of the eye, he sees. But this is chosen recognize the worth golden, unspoken rhetorics rest in quiet and growing, admiration of the very special and delicate, with the gift of outside and inside eyes, studied as a subject, flow wrists, canna the instrument of an uncommon affection, predicate. 

Not many flowers bloom at the water's horizon, but the elements of the scenery make it just as scenely as Eden'd be. She sells him sails by the surety of a blossoming liking, the unique formation and texture and look and sensation of what he twirls like the whole world is in his hands. The very stone, throws close to home. Pocketed like a pool, encapsulated by the fabric of instant and also deep lying fascination, and in his mindstate, safe there, like combinations of his brain where, cay cay, key, lock.

Twisted as his thoughts may be, accept thst he believes MH370 is somewhere safe and sounds like the aforementioned self sent her to realize his enigma. Afflicted as his eyes mighht be, conceive his visions, the closest rumors to a lost soul undone. 

In a crowd of people he cares not of, only once would concern be given, for the plant, the rock, the spirit he's fond, a strange swan. Wands are for fairytales, so in real, sparks here and there. Acceptance. Ideals are separate and severed froms sectors of the usual, eyes, deal kindly as such. Grasp no matter the gasp of sharp winds wound and bound to be, cognizant of the the cogs of his ant,ique and not weak standpoint. The hour for Strength. 

MINIKUI AHIRU NO KO TENSAI

Atlas, atlas, at last. The ceiling caves, convex, concave, conclaves of thought forcibly revealed and brought to the fore. One of these things just doesn't belong. A tiger in the woods still be wrong. Punchy drums and country clubs that's a contrast and all of time passes bye like goodnight, Godspeed. Tupperware when supper's near but also slumber. take you along for a ride trade youth alone for these stresses, stretching, elasticity in the blue collar. I bet the dalai has no problems. A commoner standing in a complete circle, staring at all the corners. Cycle. Life life life life life, scythe. Flirt with the sight of the twisted black and white. Hmph. Too much for likings, could've been a lie king but wings far appeal greater. Shred falsities. Detach. 

goast

vol. 4.5, PenchantForTheBroken

SHARDS OF YOU.

pale needed.

Come lay your feet in the tub of your tears, hindered by the fare of the wait of tares from the ducks, aqua aqua. Masked by a false certain air, why Hyde? awkward awkward. The windows of the shops you pass by sea behind your very oculars, see your very obstacles, obvious. Inner voice? Toughen up soldier, no shoulders, no shrouding shred doubts douse those with doses of rouses, wake up as if you have won.

Come lay your feet in the tub of your sight's waters, the warmth truly, pedi-soothing, therapeutic, Losing, one self inside heaving sighs. Recovery, after being hit by sledges covering yourself… shield, scarred, average seal, expecting doom and Klum, hard, but a silver lining in every frown.

Come; lay your feet in the tub of realization. Accept your position, identify your options, set the wheels in operation. Return to safety, save thee, thine, thou, though, I mean, it is all a cycle. Siphon confidence, let it be.

Come lay yourself in time, in your own tide, steady raft hone crafts, home fast, own past present and to come.

Come lay your head in the tub of all things anew, re: birth. Selah Omega. 

Axel, vol.4

AXEL

Labryinth.

Vertigo. Abyss. I've been amiss. The natural, the pure. I've been among the different. Rare beams, scarce Diplo. Who or what is he? Eternal queries, he thinks hard., between a rock, the hangout is a quarry. Internal squabble. A tad bit of squalor. So the pen comes in to play. Jumbled in a jungle of limitless bounds bound by a pound of grey amidst an inking of green. Youth. aged. Fine by the vines, fruitful and seasoned. Knows better. Seize the moment. Cease the momentum. Sees all, seas roar, seeks tranquil. But only peace of the battlefield is revealed. Meat of the matter, veal of a madman. separate time zones, a drone in normal seconds, secondly sent on second, not belonging to anything worldly 2/4 of the hours. empty shelled, absent minded, mind you my mind moves music only. Muses of like things. 

Activities of the usual are things not used to him.  Polar, ridiculous. snowy space. xawmby. The intrigue, the mystery. polar, even within bare hands alcohol is clutched periodically, as such quests are flooded on a quest downwards, moods are one way streets. disappointment? his post, he's appointed. anointed in the sense. Well oiled mechanical fence. fends in self care. new beginnings however. New outlook. A bit of clouds on the onset. set-on when hyped. a recurring theme, fiend, feels, the lack of such things vaguely apparent.  the conflict, the 51, the 49, the 50, the 50, and other tightrope variants clearly land in the mental where its meant to.

distracting. moving so slowly solely so he sows these for growing soaked in soil... much more now a routine, a route in, root in, rooted. Cagey beginnings however, albeit forecasts have been drawn, one cast to perform. Prepared for stormy conditions. calmly awaiting the call of the middle passing. still only just a fraction of a fractured formation, untimely healing for the Achilles of the cycle. Hopefully corrected before detrimental effects affect the fetes to be attended, tended to by evasive maneuvers. sub-consciously faltering between the realities of ideologies created within the same mind, the equilibrium of life, the balance of such.

Fitting together the jigsaw while a jig is rendered saw the approval, frugal existence. complain, i shall not though. continue manufacturing the factors of a factory theory, put together in random and slightly precise sight. as the daze go by, more time is bought to see the clearing of the smog, and whilst not be seen as smug, i told you so just won't do. an eternally rough understanding of a focal point, somewhat a total point coined in joint relation. Ask about the axel. From the simple to the complex, from the the shack to the apartment.  

Terminal

Desolation. A frigid dungeon, luminous? hardly. any indication of light? must be the light and faint cries for aid, no sign of dia. the cold side of the moon. a common insignia. arctic sweats. but in every cloud there is a silver lining, and for every complexity there is a simpler writing. Omega Selah.

from the same streets that D Rose

yung ny

Vol. 3: Lutte Dans

LUTTE DANS

Prelude To War

The definition of fear, is what we all live in. Living in what is a constant, a given, robin. Thievery. Cheated out of peace. He, in front of the where the mic should be. Free him. patience, a demon in disguise, this way, this way, guided to putting off like putting on isn’t  what he should be doing, like putting out isn’t what he should be doing! Putting introspective measures into place plays vital these days, it seams… perfectly in line with the grain of laze streaking throughout. A constant wrestle, brawl, full brawn in brainwaves, shake of head when confronted. Soles stomping in soul, lone encounters reminiscent of dark alleys, Valley ways. Brutal, way this dilemma brews.

Blueprint

The issue lies in an area, a great and pivotal error, sowed in youthful green so soaked in with the loam of growth, an unnatural nature. Artificial ghost, extant, twisted along the threads of his actual spirit, common knowledge, practically beknown. Where did all the time go? Yesteryear! Reveal yourself; do not show him shadowy illusions or times bygone. Allow him the chance. Certainly inopportune to use the aforementioned demon against a weakened and lesser him, a him, finally caught on to always being caught off. Cause of death? Non-fulfillment. Half-hearted, never feels full. Cursed by the believers. Bereaved at the thought of such qualities, going astray. He must be blind. Simply that, in a sense when only sent to a meditation, all senses except sight on deck, on site. Then they all put their cents in. all a terrible vice, rests above his eyes, visors. Inside the depth of grays and blacks, doom and gloom and steel walls, the dimly lit den of all ideologies crude, reigns and pores.

Battle

An impractical and ultimately thin thing keeps him, them, us, we, all, enclosed. Think of it, fight the fear; of being oneself. He has sparred to the point of exhaustion, katana exalted, saulted through summers and winters, hand springs for evasion, falling down on faces. Wholly jaded, why such a stronghold? Why not just express? Let be. Let live. Become. Conquer. These schemes of the conscious should come as natural as the lines he types, as he writes, left in the cages and chains. Fear, the poltergeist. The eternal tormenter. Accompanied by the questions. Surrounded by the doubt. Fear, the instiller of timid spirits. Fear, the limiter. Fear, the everlasting winner. As long as he, and they, and them, conform to the tyranny. Break free. Uprisal. Retrieve, time lost. Confidence. Quality. Talent. Whatever be it. simply be.