The future of soot

Dribble against the scorn job. Black heart and a pile of hate meat. Sweaty mead in the leaves. Another grieves the beef chief. The smog of fog dust the call of the lost gross tokes. The after-choke. The bumble abode. Forget the future ever happened.

The future of soot, the off road breakdown. The silent scream that rips the soul out. The gloomy vendor of doubt. The parade of false meme flags. The death of sleep.

The permanant nausea. The black light beacon The omitted ozone. The science of disrespect. The neglected saints. The vaporized rain. The mummified remains of my sane.

Sleep is dead, the new King is dissapointment. The long brain, the soylent night.

The future of now. The sick belly at work. The cascades of glitter and dirty foam. The sinister blow job.The worn out couch that we call home.

The now of soot, nausea floats in a sea of acid. The happiness song heard from a mile away. The life of death.

The castaway glance. The secret yearns. The pond puffed up with coils of yarn. The bowl full of dust. The morning we never slept.

The bitter end of being alone unless in a field after dark. No art to happen under watchful eyes.

Rub soot on my genitals. Rub tears into my bone marrow. Press felt into my hair, push glitter into my beard.

The gods they hate me. Angled hooks for hands masterbates me. Packed with soot, ashes inflate me. No fleshy lover can ever sate me. Load a soot pipe with ashes and smoke it into freezing rain. Cast a net into my brain, filter out all the sane. Bury me beneath the fruitted plains. Pack my shack with used cocaine.

We live under the wrong stars, ruled over by the wrong gods. The gods we where told glow are just folds of authorarian bull. The wrong gods the wrong thoughts.

And the only way to sway out of the wrong gize is to die die. Happy cake eaten by bugs and flies on my grave grave

Time cries shadows from a pebbly flesh sun dial

The minutes stretch the already long bordom clock. Nothing but stiffle inside and cold coyote calls outside. This is the after life, the eternal punishment for past misdeads is the now the life you lead. But fragrent weeds drop green dew of you. The coyotes sing your walking song.

Pouring frozen ashes onto ember speckled soot. Pollute the absolute. Mutate the notion of the way to groove. Sleep in a insomniac's bed

The night air smells used up, depleted of vital nutrients. The ground has turned pale it lacks any sort of mineral to get those seeds out of jail.

Chilled winds blow ash into dust devil cones. Night settles around my cold, cold bones.

Those born to boogie a caffienated exodus.

The future of soot, the harvested hands. The horizon to horizon tall wall that devides our lands. The morning dew becomes steam as a result of your bad dream.