poetry short stories NFTS
Rug My VisuaL’$ -1 Malls I fucking hate malls, people who drop their kids off with money or plastic though! It’s why I’m here right now. I’m meeting up with some kid who’s probably only eighteen and a part of the Stags click. New age tech punks with spun up mesh kits who idolizes the movie character from American Psycho. They are a big ass gang and recruit in college campuses and high end strips where wearing suits with shorts and stompers are a thing. Don’t get it twisted daddy’s crypto bought this kids build and it’s top tear.
Rug My Visual’$-3 Swap A few days later I was in a bad mood even though I had planned this out for the last two weeks. I had a full schedule set with plenty of activities that I felt would be both fun and ridiculous at the same time. My first stop was to a show at the Backdoor. One of my favorite bands (Push Me) was playing queer core and I had no doubts I could sell a bunch stock while there. The reason I’m in a bad mood is the fact that while I’m in line a bear 🐻 and his butch 🧔♀️ wrangler we’re talking shit about my choice of dress. Of course I had on my cow suit and cape but I had a tight half cut white neckless t-shirt on. I had wrote [Got Milk] on it with a graffiti mop in pink paint. On my face I had put XO under my left eye and OX under my right eye. I drew a crude dick on my chin with hearts for balls and a 💦 at the tip. I even had gold vampire teeth in my grill as a topper.
[Rig] I just wish it were fancy again. A truer savage Christ stamped down upon kingdoms where wayfarer blight is never heard of in a trudge of aesthetic post’s about you’re pets and makeup tips. Oof! So I shook winters crystal to melt as summer was pressed to the land with a kiss. My swollen pupils and sweated brow await remedy from a prick self Minister. Thy papal seat the rails tracks where that new rose thorn grew between the main line registers the same color but now both lie flush and flush. A lone flower standing over it’s final resting place.
:)Dirty Jon:( The heroes symptoms are seen to clash that flag thus full and flowing is nothing more than a clear plastic bag stuck at half mass in an abandoned strip mall parking lot. Crust punk kids dig through dumpsters out back looking for anything of value to trade for medicine they burn on spoons. Dirty hunger in belly’s speak to each other ignored by it’s owner’s the heroin calls the dealership for all the fixings. Table for one. Paramedic waiters catering to emaciated body’s they pump full of naloxone and transport to pandemic beds where as soon as we can walk out of the hospital hotel quickly pass the check on the way out. The disease every bit as deadly as the virus. One a heart wrenching news peace the other pulled from abandoned buildings and alleyways where the only thing to see you O.D. Is the graffiti.
Blockchain Dreams Give me a pill I can drop water on and it’s grandma’s cookies. Give me an all encompassing metadata biscuit with thick blocky pixel gravy. Drill a hole in my skull and put in a integrated no hands social media asset that 10x’s. Make me pay a monthly subscription for a front end blocker of you’re constant dribbling bullshit posts about the products you use and what crypto I should buy. Let me get a back end bitch who only wants data for her phone and a gift card that’s not cap. Pull up on my pupils with super rare NFTs instead of ten thousand strong ass eating depictions of different colored mono fill to find the one with pink eye and a bleached asshole high score. How close is the future of 3D printing smart drugs that not only fuck me up chemically but takes me to a back room poker game in a sketchy part of the world where they use avatars for blood sports. How about you spin up a node that’s functionality hits like a hot rail.
Mom Spaghetti A place within me past a memory of a huge pot boiling moms spaghetti. The smell of a water hose in summer. Reincarnate me, let me play in the sun, take away from me the memories of that last place and hold me close again dear mother. I miss you’re smile, I miss the days and nights spent upon you’re lap. Rock me to sleep and I will dream of pirate treasure and let you pretend to be a monster who’s trying to eat me! That’s the heaven I won’t. Simply wishes with naps by the tv. Plastic army men and a blanket fort.
Pushing Daisies Find meaningful precedents to let show with chosen median a makers mark upon this world then lose thy self to it. Throw passion with you’re eyes unto the frae and where it touch be crushed and lifted. Let us run like mad naked beasts through the thrush in moon light as stars fall weeping from our short time under their shine. Allegory of a thousand suns like that of past lives spent upon this rolling bolder in the cosmos. A different frame holds a picture of a God on another wall like wind that’s pushed daisies around for fun.
O Much A Boil Of Life
I often think of life as a mountain lake that’s Nestle just over the next rise. Our memories like that of it’s ripples lapping along the edge. The wooded trails adventures, some trod well while others are untouched. As I lie in bed at night I think what a week earthly tether my spindly arms would be to hold such an angel upon eiderdown feathered pillows. Times waxing Candle would be a mean wain between flickering sleep and the coming morn. O much a boil of life, that warbler call will bring it forth, the sun breaching through and break that tranquil rest. The spell lifted with soft stretches and a rub of the eye.