Candy on purpose. The matter at hand. Live another day and wreck reigned in to upset proportions. I love the aftertaste that money leaves. The lingering stench. Lagoons filled with murk (oh the murk). Can I revel in the murk? The stand off existence will prescribe then don’t ask why. Shadow makers and mystic fakers and I will drive the car along the pocket. No defense is the best no offense meant none taken. A drawing will always be a drawing. As long as it is drawnt. And side-views cast through rose colored sunglasses take a stab at the night. I’ll take a stab at the night. The night as it was originally intended is a dark thing, a dark thing plopped down along the earth like a soldiers rucksack. Crash glamour is barking and I am still as loveless as a pylon.
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