Night Light got suckered.

Night Light got suckered.

A Poem by Apparition
"

Based off of an aesop rock song "night light"

"

 I swallowed the pieces of the broken day and it tasted gray,

so I spit it back up into a cup and flushed it down the drain.

Barnacles can't see beyond the cluster,

leeches see only that which brings money to their suckers,

Night light got me when the day light met my tinted optics

I said 'f**k the wheel, will somebody please change the topic?'

I already know that I'm stuck in the marry-go-square,

the night light got me when the goose bumps grew hairs

The night light got me when my beer got frosty

The night light beat me with the 'Y' from 'You've officially lost me'

I've officially found your misplaced understanding

Looks like night light got you with a moon shaped branding

If these are just pretty words to you, I'm glad it's aesthetic

Night took over when an appeal to force beat out good rhetoric

When pathetic met 'You've got to give him some credit,'

But credit got carded, and was boldly underage

It lost to darker forces because it couldn't back the wage

So night light came to f*****g smack me in the face

Because you can't see the night light when your wearing overbearing shades

So laugh now, because you won't be laughing when my brother's

drag you through the mud in the name of fashion

You won't be laughing when I grow gills to filter out the poisonous gas

You won't be laughing when your' armored wagons crash, into my big toe

Andrew the Giant, created of  cracked radio waves and broken television signals

You won't be laughing, because you can't laugh while gasping for air

Can't laugh while grasping for your own words; "Life isn't fair."

 So don't be confused in thinking this crude mind has made a change for the worst, instead look inside of your own head first.

© 2009 Apparition


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Added on October 8, 2009

Author

Apparition
Apparition

five thousand two hundred and eighty away from waves



About
I am an apparition, a ghost in the system, the host's no longer the victim, the parasite grows weary of the barely alive flesh dressed in a hardly harrowing death caressed mess, stressful doesn't trul.. more..

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A Poem by Apparition