In which a flexing bulging stratosphere, and tricep hills for days, and sultry cocky confidence in all the silly ways – it makes for soft and silky faces, razor whiskers razed, disgusting masochism in all the lamest craze.
Break apart a system, in which hungry is the gaze, you learn a book of systems, and write out all your ways. You work endlessly on the body, a game that some sometimes refuse to play, and headbang inner visions, sulk and hate your fate.
I build myself for fury – using coldsteel hate and vice, and hunger for an ending, an ugly little splice, the normal is the broken, freedom seldom worn in rights, electric inner vision, and demon tainted might.
Kill me soft and gentle – I’m as strong as I am weak. Kiss me quick and subtle – I hate the dumb and meek. Passion mistook for loathing, I hate the “man” that is. We kill ourselves in depression, regular simple ‘biz. Will I be next to linger? Blood upon the floor? Or maybe someone’s lover, wishing for something more.
We are spent and we are fractured, reaching out for love in need. But never utter weakness, a wisdom – with clear and social heed.
