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Rated: E · Poetry · Writing · #1988550
I don't think this is finished...
Self-involved, conceited, and convoluted, self-fulfilling

Prophecies of the preoccupied philandering kind

Stench of my perspiration provides inspiration

Toward some kind of motivation...mind altering

Altercations, an alternative to procrastinations, protruding

Post-apocalyptic cryptic readings without meanings.

A means to an end, an end of a friend, previously

Pretending, prostrating pendulum swinging. 

Searing sands of cyan crying crayon credulity, my humility humbles

Upon humorous humming, a nimble numbing, a dimming dumbing.

Precursor of percussive pressure, or rather,

A pre-emptive pussyfooting of sorts.

Of course the intercourse was coarse...

Raspy retrospective that it was,

Hoarse in my hallucinations, spry recollections,

Dry interpretations intuitively intricate in their illegitimacy.

What a nuance of a nuisance, newly negated, then incubated

Into intrusion, similar to intubation, copulating coercion

Corroding conformity in the collective conscious,

Conscientiously concurring.

Rampart rambling, rigid river-boat gambling...
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1988550-Something-like-the-others