Ampfights — Broken Down, Busted Up—Rock n’ Roll
These words are my canvas, enough space. Sometimes, I try out words. Fickle, flabbergasted, pickle-baby. -Just everything short of bigotry. I am free to write what doesn't hurt me, to remove bounds, flip the odds, and make haste. I am also free to say nothing, write obscenely, and create a virtuous mess of my half-baked talents. Both get viewed as blatant, hubristic attempts at trying to beat the odds, but most (if not all) of the odds get accumulated through malice & abrasive action. However, more often than not, it's far from an attempt to stick it to the man. It's more like I am right down the middle. Both paths protrude out, starting at my ass until the same middle ground has my insides hogtied like that of an apple sticking out of the mouth of a fully roasted suckling pig. The apple pokes out of my mouth and continues all the down my esophagus, engulfing the gut biomes; it passes the lower intestinal tract, then the sphincter! Poking out prolapse. —this is a way to fuck myself. No sexual gratification. Not even a spanking! It is just shean finding new ways to go fuck himself. But what two of us aren't planning for a mess? Who wouldn't? Considering that there is an apple up my ass long enough to clean the unprocessed tonsil stones pellets out of my gums. Approach with caution.
