Tri-Factor of Failure

I sight a storm, a torrid tempest of all that natural harm can spin

I walk into it, gun upon my head and fresh bottle full

Trigger pulled, bottle adds to the empties I have piled a mountain high

But alas the joke has been heard, no end does meet this mortals attempt of worth

The bullet faulted, the torrid tearing of the wind did merely ruffle hair

The bottle only cause for a hangover sent from hell

I hath survived and now do ready myself for the next trial I must endure

And this piece even fails to rhyme!

An Image to carry the Words

Happy Birthday

So Fuckith life for the factual fact that within the parody of a yearly passing this so solemnly constructed curse upon all that freely smiles is stillith existing within the basic terms of life and for doth the blade will claim before the next yearly passing dons a merry frock and celebrationary style posts this image again

Happy Birthday my Shadow, the form hath faded to hollow nature but this apparition will imprint it’s words to those who listen and send corrupted smiles to all who so care

Slave

The moment I crossed her, the second I knew the mere hint of a line to step beyond was but a mere illusion of what I may wish to retreat back over
The word she said, a dagger as poison as the tip of a scorpion so poised to strike
The moment she struck me, the second I knew there was so much more than what my eyes could ever wish to tell
The whip, the look, the pleasure so poised to fuel painful love
The moment it changed, so happy to be but a mere slave to all demands that bitch commands

As I am a flea, trickery me
Ribbiting down the tree
A frog to sing the merry song
With a background of three
As a manic attack doth preach
Its all because I am a trickery flea