Investigate a piece of me.
Appear, imagine an
electric fashion symbol
absurdly deep in passion performing a metaphor
through black and white rhythm.
(but smoke him to harmony
and have our smear in you if only for free)
Why let a masterpiece be empty and surreal
feeling every angel mount us like silhouettes?
Angry at time you scream about balance
and our aesthetic art.
We paint a mess of wasted music
and drug write from experiments
with expensive cameras and second-rate film
our finished product is nothing more
than a broken shard of intimacy.