“Villainy”

When the warrior turns round and takes aim at his fellowship...the war is waged. Evil comes heavy with points picked and blamed. Quickly we lose sight of what’s wrong and right.

Our rites? Are they read? Kept safe or already dead?

It’s be written that even with a slight of hand both have been smitten, caught deep and fast, then soiled...despite commitment.

I’m just meant. To be. Loved or admired or been safety. It’s evidently printed I’m the carrier of bodies to hell call me Carrion. The boatman of death, two pence...I’m not making sense.

Insomniac on hydrogen and oxygen...the connections make make all consequence.

This is it.

I’ve flown over four leaf clovers wishing for luck when sober and it’s been done when I fouled my sense. Fuck my wordplay. I’m over like Walt did Disney when the Jews played.

Murders by the hands of the copulant diviants.

I should fuck myself. Wish I could but I’m not lubricated by my own self.

I’m disgusting. My fault for ruining a birthday.

I should have cuffs on fighting on COPS trying to defend my wealth.

I have none. It’s a joke that I have hands to even type...like a middle eastern woman who was screaming “IM A DYKE”!!! Yeah that’s right. I used the word as a red state wishing I run red and staring down at the floor.

Dragons. Fly. Epic. Life. Do. Or die.

It’s pretty easy on death row to beg for life.