Gord

2018-10-10 01:06 pm

Soon, my rooftops ventures velour,
While his felt cap.
So my life could be but parkour,
Hostile to this running man,
Denying his own strategy.
Assume my caricature ugly,
Underlying themes, nothingness,
Prion disease and brain eating.
I scream, away, shoo
Like strained water, drained,
Boon by foolish penmanship true.
Dry humor, dishes in an apartment,
States his wishes, his way were apt,
One could have but half, contrite,
In manacles, retarded and live happy.
Perhaps education provides a tragedy,
In return, for pardon of inadequacy.
So, I too tiptoe guarded garrisons,
My bliss beheld past,
Soon their life could be of boars.
Therefore course I lick, 
Stamps compelled to stick,
What am I? A Saliva Lich?
On course to death? Rich.
I would embrace the quick,
Lest this lifetime of fists.