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SKECH185: cosmic mother titty twist a civil fiction. lick the blade. silver tongue sparked the convo. this is my acknowledgement of the box i hover over hanging from a pretty harpy. slipping past spotlights like that's icon bound partly taught by the artsy backlashes that bat lashes at my hearty, confusing music.
Lamon Manuel: this is not about my lovelife. what’s it about? how jesus pissed bud ice, trigger fingered pin-ups and brought a lycan to a gunfight. siphoning my white friends for bias to keep real. i’m a lion picking crucifixes out of his teeth still.
SKECH185: imagine a savage dragom laughing at the onslaught of a murder of flannel whose handle is a crust punks trust fund prize in a brawl of love tapping. teeth role? pigeon holed butterfly knife. wrenched flesh gripping scarred knuckles. chuckling at the advancing. there is no "modern romance!" instead is mannequin peopled with spiders. puppet frame engaged in handling hearts. trump cards threading escapist babbling. the subtitles survived the bleeding so we're weaving guillotine basket for dreaming american. pelting white sheets at fun at mixed marriages in honor of the embarrassment. i'm not preaching. just an autobot transformed into a chariot for the heathens. shattering "cool" with a john henry one up the machine. cheesing, leaving a legend save a wife watching him fade as the sky eats him. he failed to do the garage rock jig that would satiated the grafted. found it more important to raise his fist at the sun amplifying its graphic. now is that juneteenth to a hipster? C-4 in fanny pack when it's millennial dirge that inhabits mother nature's bragging about her lack of gagging. upsold in obscurity for a splash of passion. refashioned to be fastened to a fashion where only the half hearted find purity.
Lamon Manuel: you can feed 'em force in courses gorge and swallow the timid or blow a mushroom cloud kiss and tell 'em cholera did it. this is no parade for corpses, operetta of gimmicks score to whistle at white women all in honor of emmitt. john henry vs. kismet. laying vertebrae as spikes. fisting disrespect surplus through invertebrates alike. life walks like arthritis. learned to talk and flaunt like it, chasing a pearl necklace from king midas. but even the king wants to kill the king. monarch butterfly knife. this is second nature's race to pistol tag his blindside. this slit wrist theremin pitch shifts hunger pains from altruistic cynics feeding clipped wings to runaways. summer came and went but the truth is i’d rather fail or cut my teeth on the thick skulls of alpha males or the crow-bearing head of the hydra. my coat of arms is a monkey knife fight for who gets the better typewriter.