Nickname earning: flight to nursing. Pursuing blind rhymes eyes dictate, Spouse filate, being bed-ridden, Fed paste, lies told too tasteless. The self irate, then ergo inflated, A burrowed snake safely slithers, Within a borough named Richard, Who lives past the poison sword, Ego position lord, nails fingerless. No one wants to die a virgin, but some are doomed to that fate. It's a cruel world, I know. Lates.
His life a vine, with walls to climb, A sign of reeds, tall as the ceiling. It reads: peace on earth, healing. He easily remarks, needing, tired, With nobodies hiring he sings songs. Shouts at the crowd pink psalms, skimmed, Thinking along, forward and onward; Successor non, foreign legion stalwart. His heart a fire, with walls to climb, Passions fleeting, of paint peeling, With art to desire, of maxims meeting. Of dirt green, or fences mended, Grudge son's, however defenseless.
She lives for tomorrow, folding; Sight static, fight fantastic. Not matters you, me, or belief, Our forevers spent grieving, but of a might, life traveled. Snapping, chatting of pictures, Scared of the aperture, focus, Not the fools and hocus pocus. Yang sits riverside singing, What a life quaint, dyed. Painting faint inner lies, Things remissed never vied, Another sister left behind, Another brother lost to time, Benefactor earth, Loss to files, binaries, Tyrannies, buying, surprises. Redacted is worth, Prose, everything vibrant. Observers know of likeness, Sequel to the Mona Lisa, Pious only to feeling.
Lyric, I write divine, Chorus determinism. Mind fine but life grand, Guitar a work of vine, For too few seconds, Then bent to sand. Humorous religion, Reception mad alive, Forewards and artistry, A life pious. Mine. Flounder only eaten, Soul aptly designed. Father, I write of lions, But only of your will, Type defined, candid.
Birds flying apart, They desire not; To be of is, Someone begotten; New to art, Liar at port, of port, drinking port, Thinking unimportant.
I would probably just tell her, I miss you, and let her know I still think about her. I would probably let her know, that I was doing much better and thank her, for the strong advice she gave me years ago, and I would let her know it helped me grow.
He asks why do all the good men die? He watches her eyes as the tears well up, and they both just cry. Through the wristwatches he loses time, Ignorant to buyer's market. Ignorant to the sacred time, To save the come ons for another line.