These minigun emotions of child hood surviving into denim masses of conformity leaving the fold of the world to step into the grey light.
    Freedom a fallacy existing only in the broken bloodied desolate minds of the digital lovers.
    The computer romantics have broken the strict lines of blue telecommunication.
    Walking from the flushing toilet vortex to the next and more pathetic single serving of life.
    Trapped inside of this boy I scream dying to be freedom.
    I am man.
    I am boy.
    I scream in this pool table of violence and bet on another 8-ball corner pocket
    Desert desserts and spring salads dance before the starving anorexic as ung-dly reminders of her    own cage, her own control.
    Love this many colors and fetid in its breath chokes all those whom deserve to breathe and breathes all those whose sole desire is to choke and enjoy a blacker envelope.
    Wednesday that whale curves into view and its pillow slave eats that animal of drudgery.
    This hallmark whore is a picture of misery “in love” being beaten by this 180 torqued Lancelot, the joust is not her sport.
    To work to live to excommunicate yourself to a lifestyle tall of hate and glory in the blue nimbus sky.
    Walking through the forest of swamp trees as your fire hair incinerates all and you till you see how it was to much of the other and your first problem never really existed.
    The cigarette unfiltered life has been blocked by the duct tape sock purifying the mercury air
    To leave is a crime but to stay is unbearable and this orange-ade love has faded clear with your black on white inspiration.