Testo Abandoned Malls

I was staring off into the water, looking for some undiscovered colors, like a blue that really wasn't, but it wasn't any others, the synesthetic cousin to the hum of his discomfort, I been a punching bag for some truly deluded garbage, now his handshake is a unicorn, his hug a moving target, dark days either sparing change for the square pegs, or in his fav chair sipping on bear mace, tripping through his daymare, marathoning monster flicks, zombie in the stale air, logging his Hayashi pics, I been trying to teach your kid to ollie, she got the basic motion and glow when she show her mommy, I get they want the hows and whens of water cooler powder kegs, that shit that get your saintly favorites ousted from the power grid, I know I know some shit about some shit, I guess that gotcha gossip simply isn't part of how I live

Skin cold to the touch, eyes open, no pulse, diagnosis in flux

Traffic in a mad world, mad world, whereupon, often times the body spits the spirit out and carries on, to engineer some semblance of a normal life, yours and mine, then of course it's normalcy where paranormal's normalized, normal is a phantom force that levitates the forks and knives, or otherworldly parasites that quarrel over portion size, hit the floor and you could be the next unfriendly energy to organize, ordering corpses into the chorus line, best friends and death beds, red cents, and headwinds vs one man who's ten men, I bubble to the surface legendarily imperfect, purging slurpee from a head that turns incessantly in circles, it's concerning, my psychic likes to focus on a orb, and tell me how she sees me coming home to goldfish on the floor, in perpetuity, I been sleeping in my armchair. taking weird walks and speaking to folk who aren't there

Skin cold to the touch, eyes open, no pulse, diagnosis in flux
The same alleys we used to imagine Babylon, feel like abandoned malls overgrown with Spanish moss, commotion froze in time with no sign of your lamb of god, It's a land of the lost, scrambling for canned applause, Damnit, rip the bandage off, Rant or panic if you must, Any way you manage it, the plan was always pick the cuffs, eventually, Fixtures who were questionably prisoners, and ventured out, now we're never anything but visitors, spent the winter sitting pretty on a sleigh to hell, ok to look away if you need to forsake and save yourself, it's underneath what's underneath the dungeon, that layer of dysfunction, that ain't for the weak of stomach, I freak an Archeology that reek of repercussion, If you need to pick some pieces up come dig a hole to jump in, Light sleeper, I'm a fighter, I'm a feeder, Earth, wind, fire, water, aether

Skin cold to the touch, eyes open, no pulse, diagnosis in flux