<BGSOUND SRC="http://divsoffdeps.com/yellowlovesgreen/sounds/i%20made%20me.mp3">

But the anarchy’s mother afterbirth makes blood.
But the taste of big mistakes with headaches makes love.
But the apology forever lost in music makes bones.
But the desire stored in boychest with anger builds gossip.
But the practice tiles and spackle cameo builds clouds.
But the pillow tendons pull to earth in borrowing makes hearts.
But the satisfaction thrill of seeing details makes democracy.
Just another desiring body in the mall who knows their allergic but still consumes.
Explain death while huggin’ on an ice stalagtite underneath the dungeon of my comforter.
Hyphen to the ‘at’-sign and I’m so happy.
Making life real without an automobile.
Making it sound like ten times more exciting than what I had actually said.
I’ll be black to make you think, but never when I’m out of busfare.
I founded the nuclear twinkle reaction sign language for giving as done in the milky way every five minutes.
Seems to accurately reflect the number of silicates in my concrete flesh.
Fingerprints upon the psychopath pages leaving the calling card inside of your locker.
But by this I mean I am the color of nothing.
Something the shape of dissatisfaction.
Fortress on a hill: we banned for life.
Fireplace smell of blood inside of my nose.
Division-belled up on the photograph.
Peeling layers off my soul like string cheese and wrapping it around the beat: soundsnob.
Supposed catalyst.
Melancholy plaster.
Complete total lunacy. Use the moon to see.
Making it big with only one horse to gallop me.
Man made of errors inside of an appetite exercise-wheel of six-sided glass-ceilinged scenarios.
Everyone’s your friend.
Nothing to lose. Touch tear salt crystals. Pimp speed maniacal desolate.
I made this thing at work today when it got slow.
Giving is the masonry of every living partially deterministic dawn tomorrow petting zoo of newborn skymap exploits.
I won’t own black anywhere else on my body thanks a lot.
Politically black only.
I’ll be black to piss you off, but never when I hate my writing.
Feels like the world ended without me and I’m nowhere so I’m thinking ‘party’!
Rollerball portraits of shameful idealized art students on memo notes crumbled and thrown in the toilet.
It’s so great to have people that value your intelligence.
Wanted to kill the boy that I thought you were fucking.
But I probably wanted to kill him because he was better at being black than me.
Thought that everything I believed in was outrageously false.
Everything still is but I don’t care as much.
I mean I really care but.
You see there because the whole figure is fluid and brings up two equally balanced self-histories of the transparency somewhat inherent and free from the carefulness which is constricting but also to not have a hiding place.
Lies in languages I continually get the grammar fucked-up in.
I made me while living under you taking the rusty hinges off my refrigerator ribcage of smog nailed to piety.
Out of the morning debris of accomplishment.
Completely empty weekend unified with actions.
Hiphopeless dystopias notice a fortress on top of a hill made out of real shellfishshells.
Food and bombs and love and rockets.
Quality protection against the threat of lawlessness.
Coming together into the shape of a different animal.
Graven accidents to bless my sneezes.
The mall of the moment wholly constructed of wailing walls.
Misses Hustleberry January morning overlooking all the quietness hibiscus of the island on Gregorian rewinder up to pitch I didn’t feel it something creeping in my fortran’s backdoor.
Loathing on the global notebook’s lines off latitude.
Campaigning on this mike until we make it out alive.
Stolen maiden nomenclature punched the transfer in commuter pocket.
Me and the other sides of my smile I share my room with had alternately tried to get a look at wounds in some attempt to help but it has been just well I could whine but why when I’ve survived.
Hotel is rattling now so full of family.


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