What ecstasy!
Pure palatability of the peach that grows on the apple tree!
Let their disapproving eyes roll back in their heads like the possessed medicine man!
Enraptured whole into the soul of the grave or wounded.
Beaten down because the mutated have minds that have minds of their own.
Impossibility penetrates the raw wrong laced with the terrifying idea of the conformist.
Be as it may, and maybe it will just be.
No harm, no foul
For those to those-
Who dance with their creativity.
Burn the gifted hate in effigy!
Ignite the passion! Ravishment. Wild!
Spread the thick smoldering ashes
As wide as their filthy mouths dare to open.
My splendids, hunt with your senses.
Let karma be the filthy creatures undoing.
Dip your hand into your chest and clean off the bad blood spit on your heart.
Glow! Be stoic!
It is all relative what incantations their backstabbing silent tongues bloom and prosper.
Beauty does not exist unless the eye sees it and the mouth says it to make it so!
Because be as it may, and maybe it will just be.
What ecstasy!