the transition. giving meaning back to words, with familiar feelings. preserving all of your ice cold teardrops while the apes tromp and strive the cast of winds and time dictates emotion. they're selling birth control to your daughters so they can master the thoughts. the uncontrollable are now controllable so i sold control to the pawn shop. a battle sits on a mantel, ships in a bottle..accompanied by a filter. thats all we can keep to glide on the surface that holds every unseen answer. LOOK, look to the body language through the eyes of the souls that worthy your time. to surround yourself with the ones who move you to whisper. YELL! said the ape, yell quietly and shine like the gold ones. silver soul never pay dues...spilling guts that they never gave up. theres no such thing as a hunch. the fork hits the hand hungrier than the next mental connection. so while we talk, the pitchfork stalks, but the city is not fixing anything this time. silence is what we enjoy on the street, killing time. watching the tamed compete. none of this will matter anyway until we're dead in the dirt and decomposed by the worms. composing words. and getting comfortable with my doomed relationship with life. this is not for anyone. fuck, drink up. let me have my reality check now. pseudo-amercan-jesus dispatching and yes...i fought against everything. but i worry i was never "for" anything. rebuilding isn't rebelling and ridiculing is'nt replacing. my voice through the speaker fades. i'm hearing this song  through my parents eyes and i thank myself for the meeting with oncoming traffic. not corsant to "his" or "hers". stranded invisibly in this sea of humanity. i'm living in the dark with the lights on. came from the left and left with the wrong songs. i took twelve steps through the canvas and directly out the other side to nothing. saying nothing. saving nothing but myself. so spin your magic and close your soul erasing eyes. before the undoing of your laced-up ego...there's a factory standard mortality in every bullet-proof life. lesson 3: "How to Eat Your Own Art...Without Getting Shaken or Cracked" i think it went something like that. i entered with a name and a verse, now creation is a patient search. plagued by the decedant crave for injecting my daydreams on every page. spinning the fashions of ragged straight jackets with the days ticking by on this panoramic planet (heartless at a habit). layers of alone - underneath shows proof of exterior seams frayed. are you trying to win rapid fire? gun for hire? i hope he blows your fucking smile away. it's wasted when broken, sacred when spoken. slam into me and my ditch of debris. i'm standing alone with an echoing moan, busy oiling the gears of my broken machine. and yes, i guess every one of these drips add to something...but, bathing in it is still a long time coming. so, how do i in fact remain intact. RELAX, i'm just waiting for the mountains to collapse. we'll become silhouettes when our bodies are finally gone. learning then turning. MY TEACHERS WERE WRONG. you can dress it up as well as you can, but i can see  through it... thats freedoms back hand. but, there's got to be a catch. i'll remain remains until the fires fall and the skies crack. stare at the abyss...it's Lance at a glance. looking deeply into me...all you see - i am nothing and nothingness. the fire burned itself, so: look at my worthlessness. wheel me out into the masses of the "legless" so they can cast their stones at this pisces-aquarius. the rose petals weren't plastic, they've rotted away. still, hang them on the wall. make friends with the memories. cut your bread and throats with the same knife...i'll still sleep at night. while your stuck on the tip of your ice-berg heart. the only choice you have is to hang yourself with your own halo and sink below to feed the fires forever to unseen shadows. an out-of-tune instrument is half-my-face. grey skies, purple lips, red eyes watching the reiterating tide of things to say...and i know they'll blow your smile away!. and so it seems that the trivial theme is wrapped in a dream packed with silent screams. falling off the edge of the earth. the experimental faces breed silence as an epitaph. allegiances to lost childrens MASKing tape that covers up a generation of fate. i rest in the poetry and linger in a world between sleep and awake. falling awake. falling. falling.