BjornFellhand

Gather upon my directionless spirit the smoke-stacks of the prairies eyes. Kindling stoked forever to the amber midnight, rivers run through me, where whiskey fire bellows, crackling storms rejuvenate my leather skin. Ventilate the purple skies through my Veins that twist with the winds.

Ha Ha Hoohoo a-hee/ Try and find somebody worse than me/ I slept on the stage of celebrity jeopardy/ Shouting trivia at passer-byes on the wheel of fortune, so give me the letter B/ I love my pathology and all of the perks it bring/ Don't stop me from slurping this mercury/ I just might Glasgow smirk madly back at thee/ Slipping through depravities/ Panicky flattery has saddened my inner-me/ I've mastered the art of evil laughter, so listen please/ I've been Clockwork Orange'd with slashers/ Jason is my distant assistant, he always questions if life matters when the knife makes the blood splatter/ Shape-shifting barbarian Zeta-Ret

This is, stream-of-consciousness hip-hop, in my world Romulans flip rock like planets, I rip thoughts from my mind like I'm incredibly manic and to leave, travel or transit, the directions have been implanted in Sanskrit upon my eyelids like life's script written in a dead language, my sisters and brothers have guns, that riddle with anguish, that's the plurality I hang with, literally miserly, burning effigies, I expend a spark to invigorate my energy, that's all it takes, but just as easily, you could blast an atomic breeze to me, bring me to my knees with electro-magnetic pulsating diuretics, because I'm the Iron Giant, and the theoretic e