Here's for things workin' out. Cheers.


Of God and Cocaine - RevisedAmidst the trappings of neon lust and faux dreams I walked the streets of Los Angeles, eager to find a path leading from this world to the next. A thick concoction consisting of rum and cocaine flowed eagerly through my bloodstream. One drug complementing the other with a stark contrast that imbibed clairty into my soul.Of God and Cocaine - Revised
As I passed by a decades old liquor store, it's pink stucko a stark contrast to the rod iron bars that lined it's windows, I couldn't help but notice a slumbering hobo curled upon it's steps. His throat rang with a dreamless, liqour drowned slumber I could hardly remember myself. In his old, cracked fingers sat a


Incomplete, of god and cocaineAmidst the trappings of neon and lust I walked the streets of Los Angeles, eager to find my way out of life. The rum and cocaine mixed well in my brain as I looked down at some bum holding a, “Why lie, need beer sign.”Incomplete, of god and cocaine
He asked me if I could spare some change. He had good grammar, so why not, it better than I could say for myself. “God bless you.” He said enthusiastically as I slipped a couple of bills into his coffee cup. I paused for a moment and thought to myself, “God, huh, what of God?” I honestly find it hard to believe that people -really- believe in God; Yesterday on the news I saw some story about a three year old


Of Freeways and Famedrugged delusions of love land slides of lost hope and tragedy demons consume her with sounds of the freeway answering her beck and call fortunes amidst fog lights and v8's dancing on the smog embelished road she calls his name as she embraces the semi break lights and with one action she's famous her face echoing through across the eleven o'clock news answers come in darkness and death kisses her icen lips with the reaper comes rest and solitude sleep now josephine rest in peace josephine he loves you he loves you josephineOf Freeways and Fame


Reflections of a WriterHabitually watching the blades of my ceiling fan spin, I couldn’t help but think this was all too routine. Every night for the past year it’s been the same thing, lie in bed for four or five hours and watch the fan as I try to sleep. Then, after my eyes have gone dry and my mind numb, I decide to go out on the stoop for a smoke. Tonight wasn’t any different. Slipping out of the sweat drenched bed I grab my pack of smokes from the night stand and make my way out the front door.Reflections of a Writer
The air seemed stagnant tonight for some reason, like it’d been hanging there for a couple of days. As I looked up at the smog en


The Curvature Of OhThe Curvature Of Oh
Tod’s a mute, it doesn’t matter why. It doesn’t matter why, but Tod’s a mute. He sometimes wants the world to spin so fast that he’s on the other side and he’s singing, he’s singing so loud that the crows in the rooftops stop their noise because there isn’t any point because no-one’s listening, because they’re all listening to Tod. God stops to hear Tod sing. But Tod can’t sing, not at the rate this world spins. He can’t sing.
Tod starts to paint. Starts in his room at the sound of the door, but the sound’s only so loud because it never comes from his mouth the way we sometimes surprise ourselves with words we never
--
Fighting for peace is like F'in for virginity
*bevelled-edge
:iconbevelled-edge:
--
Fighting for peace is like F'in for virginity
*bevelled-edge
:iconbevelled-edge:
What do you think?
(please note that I am away this week - so it might be a little while before I get back to you)
--
A storm is rising.
--
Fighting for peace is like F'in for virginity
*bevelled-edge
:iconbevelled-edge:
--
J. Edwards
it's mean.
and sorta lame.
wtf?
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