Latest Posts by rhythmsquid - Page 5

Peel off

Clatter of the chips, pop a prayer like a pill, it's an imagined insurance for the shit with which you cannot deal in every lacking moment of assurance forms.

Turn to splatter on the wall no matter which way the coin flips, win or lose, the ball is gonna roll through the brain and bone.

Take a drink or two n' raise the bar, then hit the deck when all's said and done. Home is where i lay the dead at night, dome a couple tin piece men and lay still with them as they rot.

May as well make a show of the hole or straddle a pole, honey luscious skin shining for the money, or at this point for the fun out pokin' through to the tightly clad cloth, beckons to pull the trigger under trench, pocketed in coat. Cash, brass, bass and matter, nothin' else matters after crossin' lotus tree, got me needin' take axe and lighter, tell the boys to zip it up and get back to ship.

Leave the saloon and mount your saddle, watching the sun drizzle out while counting what's still in the gun. Spit and shine, visit like an off meal in some hole in the wall, sit down in and fall on through, get caught up in the scene rent an inn and rent to the passin', whoever may be comin'.

Stall or steer, let it take you or send it flailin' to the goal, life is a gamble, and I'm playin' to lose. Any end shall have been part of my life, any slip up my bust or loss, breathin' every moment I place a wager, meager vice versa play unto my vices and violence. I'm a dirty weasel painting the path of life on a finagled easle, make it easy and bear your arms to let us lay down ours, take in cuff and lock, skip and cheer.

Shatter a tooth then wreck the groin, rinse and repeat till the river runs red, I'll be playin till i end up dead, hair already grayin, what time do i got left? Green, black, red, glance at the number and glance at the shade, every movement a bluff, every moment a poke at the chip and the burning stove.

If life is a highway, every second is a toll booth, and I'm the held down fool convicted by the man, coursing with conviction und red as blood within vein, speeding past as many stops as possible.

Saturday, January 11, 2025. 17:03

Like some kind of ghost, or a whisper of something once known. I lose myself within the monotonous mechanisms. A beginning is to one as an ending is to another, and the day still ends the same. The human puts too much power in its own name, and would sooner rather death of many than to lose it .