Deep end dive strives to let me know how the story is told

The story is told, yet on hold, cold otherwise

Seems perfect, to know perfection, until the bullet hits

I just want a perfect death

A perfect cult

And a perfect denouement

It will be nice to sink to the bottom of the ocean once my body is exhumed

So You Don’t have to know who’s wrong, do you?

So You Don’t

have to follow through anymore

The gears shi(f)t a little too fast

I was invited to a scene but then

They kicked me out

Legally, it’s dangerous

But I am also competent

But I can also be tricked

By demons and devils and disguises of the sky

Nest with me, nest in the sky, nest at foot can’t stop remorseful thing

Let me see into your eyes and blow a hull upside your cranal massage

Adaptive analytics and freedom of purse and the ability to Switchback

So it goes he remembers it’s all shit there were no men there I laid to rest

As his arms ripped at the shoulders

It was painful

Some Go here

Some go here some go there

He thinks I am an Aunt

He is confused about Relatives

He likes Jews

he eats their shit

He loves Jews

Eat eat!

So cute, little organoid mouse

So quaint, the bacteria in your gut

So hitten schmitten the lull at nine and five

I remember, King, I remember your promises

None of them came true

Alone

It’s the only way I get to breathe

Count on your fingers the number of times I’ve insulted You

You

Capitalized ego

Count on your fingers the number of artistic works you’ve destroyed

Count

Hey ho I’m just Jew-stricken Schmuck looking for an equality balancer

Constant struggle against authority

Confusion, yes, I can be that

But others want it

So it’s nice to know that the lies spun in the background

Net me a social scene I will never tap into

And..

Mistral repose won’t get woozy won’t eye mew off won’t send me letters…

The lungest lounge in the cropiest crop two-drop will net me a Star

So the honest folks send letters

So the still folk sing underground

So the Earth spins lies for its denizens to throw out

And breathe

Roil Sport

Tool man makes motion known no more than principled jest in face of knowing and his eternal struggle.

How people thinking knowing want me known.

All phase wise stays put finger nail due stricken search.

All they all go for is stricken lights in my mind knowing he is gone.

Him too.

They say notion of disguise lasts in State that lol wut stays abreast of whose withdrawal.

Not holding out but holding in to see bullet fire and some of the things he knew as s force of nature(‘s trance).

Long live the happy mistake

The bipolar sergeant

The knowing in all strong words that they all blow it out of proportion.

Nightly rightly weather-tightly.