Holy moly shit, can’t explain it
I love when torn down, smashed up
I can’t go too long before I need to
I’m a terrible person who just doesn’t
know it yet
Falling down, hitting the ground, and
The best things are broken things.
It’s an ugly eyeball belch that wants
in all this grateful
I put my paint fork
into your spider web
you gotta bleed
you gotta get the lazy
You have to wash away
what’s become cobwebs
in an empty, pale green room.
Swelling with Tomorrow’s birth
I exhale dust and you go forth
We scrape and bruise true,
appearing grander with the coloring.
K. Shawn Edgar | Public Display Artist | Enemy of the Slate
Shot From My iGun Into Your Bulletproof Devices