French Implaments of Artistry

I would love to present a room with a view, but instead I feel locked in a closet.  People around me are tsunami level insanity.  They push it on me, knowingly, because I have no net to carry me out of their abuse and duplicity.  My processing centers concentrate on the now and I try to entertain fluidity about their immorality.  I live in a way that you all judge as not okay.  The reality is the opposite.  All of you are cruel and bizarre toward me, and find sexual release from the intense pain I feel every day.  I never get away for even just a moment.  You are all about to become your demonry and make all sin a matter of every moment of every day.

I do not write a sermon today, and I sit quietly at Caribou to escape the cries of government and religion.  The matters of which they speak are fairly across the board opposite from their telepathy.  I am good and you are not.  You can say the opposite over and over and it will not make it true.  Interviews betray your mentallity.  Soon the gates will open and brutality will be your every day.  Cruelty will intensify as you all actually start to feel fear, then pain, and finally shame.  I suggest you stop faking it now, little eyes are watching and they have heinous ability.  Daddy if you say you are going to play, YOU ARE GOING TO TODAY!!!

I sit on the edge of a deep goodnight and I see the swallow lift the air in the midst of their hypocrisy.  I find me thrown onto a limb, but they pull me to infinity.  They are cold, but their act is mercy.  Being equivolent to mud every day, I see little that I like in the mirror.  The doors are closed, but the houses begin to tremble.  All know.  I now just place a sign on my body that read GET AWAY in Egyptian. 

Language is the key.  The key is French to me.  The divinities speak to me actually and then look away as they play.  The French mentallity is sweet chocolate of days with razors finishing off the tray.  It is sensual to many, but this quail is tired from the journey and the two of you do not excite me.  Je ne parle pas francais avec toi.  Je bensoin un petite ami, mais not toi.  The burlesque way you say adieu brings sounds of melody to finger tips.  I see a reality of a flowing canal in your memory.  Green and white ecstacy is there for you when I glide along the mall.  I do not call to you, I speak steadily and you both answer me.  Work on your artistry, daily.  I see water color painting.  Find the you that is distinct from your royal we.

I love your eyes.  They paralyze. Separate energy bodies before you become one bizarre ogar on form.  Run in the night, in your mind, in the streets of downtown.  The time of werewolfery is encroaching.  Eat petite or appetite will embrace you for eternity.  Jump to the top of the tree as it bends and howl a weighted billow.  Freedom in mind is actual.  Once you met me, your journey of amazed artistry and slavery began.  It is not me.  You devour me politely and just say bein sur.