A middle aged, finely unshaven scrappy migrant dust's off his suit
hair tattered in tragic, he sappily suckles in what move's is muse through you
confused, though aware of correct and only correct, he rustles through bustle
tussling all respiratory reproduction as a molester of muzzled
zero proof to loose in hustle, he hassle's the mere mirror he reproduced
a recluse to priceless art, starved on only intended for repeat through bruised
defeat to use.. Indeed diffused from regularity - "I am the amused"
the few, the flu, the arch in *arck and the lark in own world scoop to abuse
His shoes, his haven scuffing out each scoff produced or atleast infused
his strings broken from huffing the beauty of panting by any means of do
he sighs, he whines and he cries outside and inside much like me and you
waiting to sneeze yet failing and flailing failing from coughing through and through
no drizzle, no dabble just babble fazed from the fazed where he's stayed loose
no where land dying and only lying to try and include intentional sexual misused
no page of tissue, no stage or light issued would re-direct his attitude
for the warming in warning has what has grown him into adult in use
ripples and waves executed off of his socks through feet barely bare by there name his holds
soulless like an added *ness or nest in progress unfolding souly sold
each morning he morns the dawn claim dead is the day
he feeds his brain on old mainscripts left in the rain when it never rained
he idols idolize and resize under his own breath as judgement
he barely recgignizes his own silhouette in those same following cement steps
*broken from claim each word is the same all as "I know how to place"
its duplicate populate from he to I only runs as distain and others distaste
it hides behind he a breath he batters for falter memory for banter
courting his own correspondents and dependents in human kind's kindness natures
no nurture of progress just react and exists in compare
he shares the same value in I as much as I literal line cross hairs to space despair pared
I can lower case still seize and move motion unaware he mumbles as time
only questioning others design in life and loss as his to find
still procreating the world of worlds he leaves behind
covering himself in grime calamity and I know I am mine world
only surviving off the artists hand,
as "I sure did consult more for you all before curled..
cradled and dropped in hurl..
my recognition is recognition and misuse of what enthralls
so if your hand is out I can count it as constructive criticism and much more of referral.."

he spits on his hand like he spits in the artist face
claims each voice then rolls over in the words of unknown starting with "I hate.."