Like tractionless wheels, spin in place and throw up mud, the perforated lung, thick smoke presses down, it'll be phoned in, the bogged down inertial stench.
Decaffeinated law; the mud makes motion low.
What about the young?
What about the young rats?
Decapitated dog, domesticated animal, bigmouth strikes again, burnt at the steak house.
Motivated sludge, ensorcelled hibernation.
Last legs!
This is just the lag time, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Felt you trying to help me, but you only cursed jewelry.
What's this dark miasma?
What's this foul pestilence?
This is just the lag time, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The stagnant water builds, the sleepless sand less days that took, a broken rudder ship, buried in the shore again.
Buried in the couch forever, englaciated state of life, obsolete machine, no more chances left...
