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. 

Beautifulove vol. 2

Beautifulove

Shake Spears free from wounds. 

And beauty is relative, but just look how close your genealogy runs. Once in my arms two no more and I’ve won, one is now a company. Bending the doctrines of normalities when normally hills and valleys wont vanish but the vamping swashbuckling knight likes when the elements are at his disposal. That being said, sense an ultimately pure pouring of pour in, not of eeyore, but likened to the joy of Turin, tuning into each other watching themselves grow. Flow endlessly into every second, not regarding the common guard of sparring off the quests and remarks.

 And the earth turns to meet the sun and is met by delicate lips, lingering this beautifulove upon the flesh. Jest not, the complex simplicity, rules without rules, commonplace, no roost without contact, come back, reach not. Silence the overlying theme, science being sidestepped for mystics minds read and  blind deaths. Kept, close in the part of the mind. Once again portrayed as a demi, phoenix is risen, ashes by the tonne. No worries however. The connection could be said with words worse an attempt at putting down even the most accurate representation of works.

Blinds given without an end, run along, don't dive in. sure, not 110 harmony, but the mad theorist, growing in his stature, implements another theory, magic.

 Connections are of an exquisite nature, explosive and implosive in store when a late stowaway is in place. And beauty is delicate. Frail hatred momentarily when he fails to make four or make two. Typical ride out, make it through. Phoenix from the flames does nothing to free him from the the fame fear not, the fare is worth it. time stands still when the rhythm is created and cremated in an ultimate passion, climb back after climb acts. undeniable. Kind of.

Hitches of course, glitches of course. A Barbie lifestyle? Barbed wire in reality. Barking, but dawg, what's better than imperfection? bars by society, but eye see bars of poetry, that's that beautifulove. Teaching while being taught, willing to learn, well into her. That's that midnight drop an album shit. Surprise and surf rides, whoa. No faux. Pride! N's joy. Bursts of content, not to be too corny but this maze is fun, why complain when the love is the run? Simplicity reiterated as if Sizzla revisited the prism of living, live in such a manner that woman nor man hurts, stick to the script as your cursive needs work.

Tranquil. Warmth, quilts. Wars, quit not. Walks,until feet move no longer.

Try not to get track 5, its vegas when played back, acidic if you sit still.

still, being tutored on how to care. How to include. How to ink lewd things on skin. White marks like wahlberg. Feeling anew, refreshed! constant motion in this rest. we'll see.