vessels with hypodermic hands manufacturing scareousels from the terrifying dog-eat-flower garden:
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I’ve got this power to make a miracle
out of your effortless stains.
but say it to the cameras
can you remember your own name?
‘cause now your vicious teeth are carving out between my lines
craving blood to paint a masterpiece in shades of run-and-hide romances
in their narcissistic
so just play out the scene
like you didn’t see it coming.
“ma’am, did you know you were doing eighty in a forty zone
or did you panic because you left your wedding ring at home?”
when they pull you from the ambulance that ate you like a king
in the glisten of the moonshine on your fisted fantasies
don’t look so excited, don’t look for god
just puke in the toilet of the rescue pod.
What is the truth? Ask the majority.