This is the last time. Last time. Batman walks city streets and metamorphosize. Burning in my stomach, where's the water. Turning in the clothes that were washed and put on. Cleansed by my fears and insistencies, and wristed to the mast, and there's a storm coming. Warm water washing over my soul like bathwater, cleaner than that nothing washing me off, but nothingness is cleaner than this. Grievances guiding the ships over piecemeal tides, blessed with wrecked masts. Checks cashed, checked charts, messing with the marketing. Hitting rocks with the speeding pulses, needing every ulcer to be qualified with stresses of bank accounts, breaking out the email, mind games, chasing out the thunder with the lightning, cold stares becoming minced words over old shares. Batman walks city streets and metamorphosize reap and rapture, all my sheep from pastures, back alley's Gotham shepherd coated in obsidian garb, walk dark meadows with a critical child at heart, spawning from that criminal's minimal obliterate dark, to tear the innocent dawn, but the bestowed hope break thugs braised, enslaved in pursuit, and raise them to slash them, child with his parents dead, the realer death outlasted them, concealed to the money bags, I dangle from The Tree of Insanity, neck tied, body disguised in humanity. I hang Alone, admired for the decorations lining my trunk of my Wooden Throne. Eaten from inside, by those Termites. Looks Nice, in daylight from the rope height. Extends, I descend and avenge. Every Night, I died for the effortless clench of triggers, I Figured that by ridding the Litter from the trenches of Gotham, quenches the problem. Wrecks Masts, and Checked charts. Checks cashed. Messing with Marketing maneuvers, hitting rocks with speeding pulses, Needing every ulcer to be qualified, with Blessed bank accounts. E-Mat Thunder, with cold stares. Becoming minced words over old shares.
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