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decadence
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Joined: Mon May 31, 2004 6:34 pm
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"Type o Negative . net Forums"

Post by decadence »

A prosey poem, humor imminent...


And behold:

I took out from beneath a stack of flimsies, a noted record of thankless whimsies. Riddles written on onion skin, I held my head high, set to begin. My litany it rang out true, across the red, the white and the YOU, and you all sat bolt upright to stare, for dumbasses among you have secret lairs. I toted a hefty hammer high, snorted god's essence dry, and in this post a metaphor rings, tell me do you hear what the caged lunatic sings?

Domination on erstwhile planes, limitless as the depths of pain, they cheered in silent splendant awe, rubbing their anuses raw, hoping against hope that I would explain, what they already know with disdain.

And upon dimmed and battered marches, they do protest and spit at farces, until the day their own mask is donned, and they seal amongst themselves their sanguine bonds.

Salient vapors on their muse, reading the old not news, sipping latte fucking their memories, tumors and grimoires, sawdust and chicanery.

Never listen to edicts of moderators, for we are immune to their veto discombobulators. We are free to debase the rules, and if we disagree we will kick them in the jewels. We cry and we moan, for those to attone, but at the end, we are always alone, in our zest to be heard, and fill in the gap, we are part of the herd, awaiting the bitchslap.

Sitting in a darkened hall, watching the empire rise and fall, this scribe he sits with cigarette alighted, waiting on those whom fate has knighted, to come at the behest of fools, to open their ribcages with rusted tools, and in his madness shed some clue, as to why nothing is more beautiful than you.

Nude celebs and links to caleb, lick here to affix, click here to continue. Bargain basement fringe on display, closing legs against god we lay. Open faces held to the window, sundered, reddened, maddened blunder.

Post whore accusations rising, rolling rebuttal fistfuck reprising, stolid and ranged across the sea, bearing fruit that is squeegied clean. Constant muses that shine with zeal, limiting them to a dullard rookie, feasting on a meal of veal, the moon she edits policy on the fly.

Handing effort to the next batch, open the window, it has a broken latch anyway. The singularity fucks itself, and spies a languid verbosity elf, that sheens and shines as the devil defines just on what it is we choose to dine.

And still with heads a scratched, the children of boredom become detached, and forget themselves in mazes of shit, standing deep in the thick of it, and when the lights are turned on once more, what was once a thread is no more.

And altough correctly stated that everything dies, does it remain gone for long? Across the sea we march to see, that things are not always as they SWEE. We look to the heavens gates, for that comet to give us a brake. Sneakers snug and affixed to fates, left to those for whom normalcy hates. Projection and morphology, ranting in a clusterfuck of three's. We assimilate meaning on our personal lives, wishing we weren't desperate post wives.

Remaining are the defiant curses, choking on their fattened nurses, who have the contents of stolen purses, spilled out upon the face of god. The sod it has footprints in it, of commentary washed away in saline sadism. We fuck and the door is open.

And then the rain came down in sheets, planting seeds of mold in our cracks. not the anal recess mind you, but those that hide the soul's value.

Open is the roaring ideal, we sit and soak beneath the peel, of a thousand questions fat and sweaty, look at the bouncing betty, shrapnel in the face of reason, stupidity is the enemy of treason.

hardened cases of videotapes, with little boys sold to apes, whose shackles are rusted and optimally primed (grin) to flush away a spirit inside a dammit. :lol:
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