Prelude to the Acts.
(Title is a Sam Shepard Play,
A Username,
Here it is the host of teenage brain drama developer,
Patti Smith-less :'(
The First Act.
Goth comes out from the tip of his tongue.
She coil like Cacti,
Spiny boy porcupine on a couch,
Typing just that way,
and she wants him too.
The bottle of beer is sweating,
He finds the first taste awesome,
She looks for a reason, his mouth goes off looting,
Role play, he begins to know the lead all so well,
A hack mind, an emotion con,
Nobody knows who has been kidnapped.
A Pizzaman Lobster enters the room, leaves rock'n'roll, just as quick as he appeared.
The Second Act.
Can't leave the bedroom alone, yet,
Things pile up,
Goes to job. Blitz Bible days,
To survive when the day is half split,
He just needs to come home and spit in her mouth.
The Third Act.
3AM, the L to Queens, subway summer city night,
Very big drunk man wearing only a trench coat, grabbed the bar,
stood over her and flashed his penis in her face.
She describes the dick. Pubic spider hairs curling, breathe waif whisky.
She was worked as a Dominatrix, pissed in a cup and a banker dog laps it up.
That night a black dick uncircumcised dangled between her eyes,
She said, "You failed me at protection."
The Fourth Act.
Job is a magician and the coke machine mixed Jack, He thinks this will work,
Serving tacos to fast Manhattan,
Red light bulb in windowless studio, he's fucking mad artist.
She wants mary jane and him on the couch, watch Wheel of Fortune,
Art school despised him.
She had leftover debt, Sally Mae keeps calling.
The Fifth and Final Act.
5 the path number, Tarot reading by a sweet Lesbian witch,
A knife that describes the anatomy inside.
The witch prophet futures and how he could will it.
The cycle, he tries to break it.
That boy, he,
Got himself a reckless Cowboy Mouth,
Got his self a Lovegun that sprays bullets outcome might as well be no-names,
He gone and put them in little X-mas box, tied with Pabst Blue Ribbon. Ring finger on the knot. That boy,
He was a sloppy Joe. Forgetting them all,
Poured out a little liquor for those who passed, her mama,
Swallowed his Tequila, that devil's drink,
He blacked out in subway,
Jilted fame of love and waking in his own vomit.
That son of a gun, He'll be,
Born again,
Makes a Mysterious Exit.
Like an Act you see it in those City Nights.
(Title is a Sam Shepard Play,
A Username,
Here it is the host of teenage brain drama developer,
Patti Smith-less :'(
The First Act.
Goth comes out from the tip of his tongue.
She coil like Cacti,
Spiny boy porcupine on a couch,
Typing just that way,
and she wants him too.
The bottle of beer is sweating,
He finds the first taste awesome,
She looks for a reason, his mouth goes off looting,
Role play, he begins to know the lead all so well,
A hack mind, an emotion con,
Nobody knows who has been kidnapped.
A Pizzaman Lobster enters the room, leaves rock'n'roll, just as quick as he appeared.
The Second Act.
Can't leave the bedroom alone, yet,
Things pile up,
Goes to job. Blitz Bible days,
To survive when the day is half split,
He just needs to come home and spit in her mouth.
The Third Act.
3AM, the L to Queens, subway summer city night,
Very big drunk man wearing only a trench coat, grabbed the bar,
stood over her and flashed his penis in her face.
She describes the dick. Pubic spider hairs curling, breathe waif whisky.
She was worked as a Dominatrix, pissed in a cup and a banker dog laps it up.
That night a black dick uncircumcised dangled between her eyes,
She said, "You failed me at protection."
The Fourth Act.
Job is a magician and the coke machine mixed Jack, He thinks this will work,
Serving tacos to fast Manhattan,
Red light bulb in windowless studio, he's fucking mad artist.
She wants mary jane and him on the couch, watch Wheel of Fortune,
Art school despised him.
She had leftover debt, Sally Mae keeps calling.
The Fifth and Final Act.
5 the path number, Tarot reading by a sweet Lesbian witch,
A knife that describes the anatomy inside.
The witch prophet futures and how he could will it.
The cycle, he tries to break it.
That boy, he,
Got himself a reckless Cowboy Mouth,
Got his self a Lovegun that sprays bullets outcome might as well be no-names,
He gone and put them in little X-mas box, tied with Pabst Blue Ribbon. Ring finger on the knot. That boy,
He was a sloppy Joe. Forgetting them all,
Poured out a little liquor for those who passed, her mama,
Swallowed his Tequila, that devil's drink,
He blacked out in subway,
Jilted fame of love and waking in his own vomit.
That son of a gun, He'll be,
Born again,
Makes a Mysterious Exit.
Like an Act you see it in those City Nights.
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