Nate: Through creation I make situations dedicated to contemplated peace of mind wished obliterated. Participated particles of articles outdated, a presentation of prophesies emancipated…
No imaginary friends, just imaginary therapists and perilous derelict bounce to heretic prophets reciting rhetoric. Strangely pathetic, empathetic—this verbal anesthetic’s embedded with threaded memories woven by medics divine. I’m a porcupine with so many thrills in each quill that I will summarize every day till my will’s read and guilty pleasure—guilts are measured by the pressure. I’m the lecture professor of what I never knew better. Vendettas between panoramas of mob scenes, I’m a makeshift eulogist—a misinterpreted vaccine. Serene... I represent death creeping—the present repentance at the end of each sentence when you’re offended by lessons. I’ve signified nightmares, stared at the sun’s glare—burned out my pupils so spare me the “eye/I care”…
Eric: Who cares?
Nate: Sigh, if I could just live in oblivion, changing colors for the scenery: Chameleon. I’ll murder one, I’ll genocide a million as you mistake brilliance for rebellion…
Through creation I make situations dedicated to complicated peace of mind wished obliterated. Participated particles of articles outdated, a presentation of prophesies emancipated…
Here’s to you, and you and you and you and me and you. Addictions redundant like assembly lines and power tools I never knew. Walking in circles had a circumference that averages the number of crevices in my thumb prints. Some friends are causing a grievance, lacking importance, then enormous grows the ego to the point they can’t afford it. (Barney Gumble chimes in…) That’s just a frog in my throat, choking on oats that I sowed, soon to develop a note sung on the mellow brick road. Misadventure when I travel through time with a psychic as a sidekick—play mind tricks, sublime. Asinine is the vigil of broken hearts in the middle of these head games pretending that these issues are simply little. Part of sea of tears and fears of cracked mirrors—images smeared, expressions of motives commandeered. I’m the encroacher, identity poacher like a vulture—spectating so patient as death draws closer. Poster child they profiled “beguiled,” reconcile denial-style, so vile with each mile. We walk cocked and issue to take off to the terminal terminally…
Eric: …at loss…
Nate: Through creation I make situations dedicated to contemplated peace of mind wished obliterated. Participated particles of articles outdated, a presentation of prophesies emancipated…
If I could just live in oblivion, changing colors for the scenery: Chameleon. I’ll murder one, I’ll genocide a million as you mistake brilliance for rebellion…
