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Wow, Owls!
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Chris, Did You Ruin the Dance Party?
We speak in circles in speak with tripping tongues tripping over our own saliva secreting from our wounds. these lame metaphors are metaphorically tearing at my heart strings. if you want some childs play with words, you want it, you got it. but ive been proven that words are meaningless. the answer is yes so you can lead your exegesis to your cross. wipe that cheetah off your lips. its your leopard like style which keeps me swept away under the puzzled patterns of your mind where you dont think ill hide. swept awayunder the puzzled patterns of your mind where you cant lock me out. and all the soul singers can sing straight up 'i wish you still called me.' your words drip with sincerity. your words could wash me clean. make the kitten coo. strike the felines fur. you mask your own desires. she masks her own desires. why cant we say what we want to? why cant we say what we need to? ive been buried around these same old broken homes that we found. these words could fill six bottles. paise them to your lips; sink them to your stomach. we could fill ourselves on empty calorie conversation. you used tos peak for something, now you just recyle shit.
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