Psychedelics_r_best
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 16, 2004
- Messages
- 2,049
Paper mache faces cracking among the crowd,
Hollowed by the warming air and loud
Impersonalized stares of the concrete ground.
Glue and water sinking in their eyes,
As they swallow the creme brulee and pies,
That drip with exhaust and storm drain lacquer.
Etched in the grooves of rubber as they roll,
Continuous suitcases from their tongues,
Issuing hourly reports from their crusting lungs.
Transfixed by the flaking of their skin in numbers,
Used to pay the parking clerks and plumbers,
Coughing up and jeweling their phelgm.
As gems that hold their melting pupils into place,
Fixing their flimsy bodies together, teathered,
By their collections of consumerists products unfettered.
Dangling from their ears in fruits of glory,
Dripping down onto their gowns with another story,
Of hopeless vanity, towering crowns of their insanity.
Rippling through the greasy hair and glass,
Treadmill mazes that they ride all day,
In little rythmic trains of dwindling gasoline.
Lipstick, glossy shoes and newspaper routes,
Glueing toegether thier cracking roots,
Until the novetly subsides,
To the continuous unfurling masses of more,
That glue their faces back in place.
And the mirrors reflect the mirrors in the maze,
Of the paper mache faces in the haze,
Unpending until the black limousine and roses,
Unleash more fumes into their noses.
Hollowed by the warming air and loud
Impersonalized stares of the concrete ground.
Glue and water sinking in their eyes,
As they swallow the creme brulee and pies,
That drip with exhaust and storm drain lacquer.
Etched in the grooves of rubber as they roll,
Continuous suitcases from their tongues,
Issuing hourly reports from their crusting lungs.
Transfixed by the flaking of their skin in numbers,
Used to pay the parking clerks and plumbers,
Coughing up and jeweling their phelgm.
As gems that hold their melting pupils into place,
Fixing their flimsy bodies together, teathered,
By their collections of consumerists products unfettered.
Dangling from their ears in fruits of glory,
Dripping down onto their gowns with another story,
Of hopeless vanity, towering crowns of their insanity.
Rippling through the greasy hair and glass,
Treadmill mazes that they ride all day,
In little rythmic trains of dwindling gasoline.
Lipstick, glossy shoes and newspaper routes,
Glueing toegether thier cracking roots,
Until the novetly subsides,
To the continuous unfurling masses of more,
That glue their faces back in place.
And the mirrors reflect the mirrors in the maze,
Of the paper mache faces in the haze,
Unpending until the black limousine and roses,
Unleash more fumes into their noses.
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