Disposable. Talk the talk, get your deals on paper, mother fuckers quick to betray, swaying both ways. What is said fades, all spoken facades, trading bonds for Palisades? Memory break down, fake ass clowns. Multiple faces, a long bloodline of bitches, genome has snitch traces. They don’t understand basic mental layers, blinded, cutting themselves short. Brains underdeveloped, quit by default, aborts, easily corrupted.
Record the convos, avoid the Broadway shows, A grade class clowning hoes. Be prepared, send multiple a volume of blows. Silence them, block the ventricular, bleed them out, the scent sends for hungry crows, a feast on blood river rd. Hear the slow cries, play back the many lies, breath cutting in and out. Existence is forgotten, words plenty rotten, decaying with the life of maggots, flies.
Jack Purcell was a Canadian athlete who smashed birdies flying through the air for a living, winning several prestigious awards including the 1933 world Badminton championship. That neat signature Converse smilie has a new friend, Lunaron. What a pair.
Heavily packed streets, filled with girls, boys, men, women, riding their bikes grinding, transporting. Making ends meat, no faking. Horns and engines sounding away, surroundings natural, buildings, shops and traffic arrange in its own personal array, the gritty landscapes populated and stretches through its own beautiful decay. People doing what they know best, keeping busy, hustling on the streets, the stress is never easy. The strong will of mind, conquering the deal of the card, life’s moving mighty hastily. To the weakened heart, carry on, defy the hard.