The Whirlwind From An Earthling.

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Searching for a purpose,
that worth it, I’m working on words.
Wind, whirling,
the texts take apart the flesh casing like a surgeon
That’s perfect.

My story is my glory, my legend?
I am Purgatory,
on horizontal sticks stay in limbo.
Airheads​, and bare chest of latex
with safe sex that’s a ​bimbo.
If only love and sex were simple.

My roots are core deep,
feeding on the streams of tears and despair.
I’m still hungry,
the world is my fridge,
the galaxy my restaurant,
everything stays cool.
But the flames remain hot when we burn the ​bridge.

Corps we cremate,
they turn stiff then smoke,
they turn to ​mist.
The rays remain the same on one wish.
The game remains unnamed that’s certain.

Life is all multiple parts of one version,
So the knights in the round,
obey the sound of the crown from one Merlin.

One stage,
one act,
one curtain.

Nightmares on Yonge street,
no Freddy​ Kruger​ perversion,
I’d smack him.


If dreams really do come true,
then I guess I really deserve this.

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