1 year ago
S P R O U T S
Papercuts – inkspills vibes over subject matter
tic-a-tape remnances represent his last attempt
head nod copperpot - pen cracks page on a beat pattern boom bap
sounding out his avenues - gun turret echo hammer
Attempts to tap into cerebrals – rust covered armour creak - Fighting for lines in a likely story
The trouble is a lifetime of level ups levelheadedness and heavy stress - abacus additions - insomnia gameshows and light spangled etiquette
I consume mind numbing compounds
periodic table snot fodder white collar worker snout candy at the same very time as attempting to indulge my database enter data in a stormcloud of energy
If you could see me now – 7 hours later with a 16 bar monologue coughing up the same old subject matter jargon at a heap of pretenders bent backwards - you would probably on first listen rate me a lost soul wickerman flaming like a rocket pack tickling odder days and occasions.
Autobiographical ensembles – a selection of moments in time frozen - nothing more or less
Steeplechasing punchlines that wind me up
Formulas for now - these tethers these streets these storm ravaged wind snapping lives bruised and battered
I speak and shuffle letterforms for the smacked up muddy souled pie charts facts and figures skeletal
A heart palpitation short of the rigormort.
Cause that's entertainment even though its not entertaining to see a man put his soul into the pattern matter even if the patterns matter not - I still step to stuff like a fairground powercut - plotting to shoot down in flames the way in which your brain breathes in and out.
We are the world champions of nothing
Man made moon matter sprinkled on your sundaes
Scissortongue – ghost ship lieutenant – dancing on your front lawn – grave digging death linen.
Posted by Edmond Scissorflaps at 16:20