graphicsman1977

Aren't we like Jell-O, though, tightly pressed into our molds, forced to become something beyond our control And it is there, while we refrigerate cooled and hardened and set in our ways, that we sacrifice our innocence for the sake of conformity and yet we remain so firm in our malleability, living oxymorons, giving testament to the truth that we all ought to fear. How free how free are we really in a prefabricated society and were we ever?

Rustic urchins lurk empty-bottled with Neptunian eyes, all briny and ocean-like - The air is mangled, vexed with irkish cacophony, and shoved, uncooked, like a jagged song, through a rapacious flume - I am rancid with passion, rank, evil-smelling and rotten, trapped in a quagmire of perusal, ramshackled and unabated, boiled in tequilla spillways, sodden, souted, soused, three sheets in the wind, slandered by swishy accounts, my soul, secluded and detached. Morassed by a myriad of ragtag ribble-rabble, the night disintegrates into the neon dazzle of a midnight cabaret. by Tim Paschall