1 Second left. Nothings Right.

Quitting isn’t a thing.

It’s just not something you do.

Quitters never win and winners never quit so we always win.

One time he quit.

He walked off the field with one second left.

Everyone jeered and yawed.

Shaaame on him.

Standing on the goal line with one second left.

One time he quit.

Walked away.

While he was up.

A bearded man, with a dark hood.

Handed him a magic potion.

The fields turned black and slick with rain.

Smoke filled the air and the devils screamed out!

Monsters with fire-balls shooting from their eyes!

Lasers of pain from the tips of their fingers!

Yet and still…

He turned and walked away.

He cautiously stepped on the broken pieces of their bleeding hearts.

Kissing their exploding heads with his soft lips.

One by one their brains scatter.

Helicopters fly above orange, glowing, radioactive fields of fortune.

Flags flying bleeding colors, fading banners and shouts of glory past.

Toxic green rivers feed black fish to the populations of insane.

He knows, Know Better…

And She plays a different game.

At dawn, the sun sets, towards dusk it rise.

Skies fill with dust while the people mask their blind eyes.

Revenge is in the air.

Stuffed polar bears wear snakes in their pants while bowling globes roll us into despair.

Four titted spiders walk across eight lanes of traffic just to realize the real eyes in the eight mirrors of themselves.

That’s sixteen different webs of sixteen different universes intersecting with one universe eight different and all we have left is four tits on a spider.

It’s electric and almost right.

Bears with needles for claws climb up the spines of witches and wizards alike.

Drunken nights swallowing pills packed with pain cures the war inside the brain.

Pouring rocket fuel on the fire and playing sane.

Do not cross the line.

Stay in your lane.

Slow down the change.

Keep the change.

Pockets stuffed with another mans Riches, we trade Bloody Bills for gold from the hills.

Deadbeat and broke!

With fourty-nine cents!

Left to his name.

He quit the game.

Grabbed his bag and carried on.

With and without them.

Where’s the time gone?

Traded houses of truths for dens of lies.

Dead flies, stick to the recycled paper of yesterdays lives.

Corporate ninja journalists sell their souls to the darkest of sides.

Rewinding, rewatching, recording films of children bashing their brains in.

Their helmets adorned with symbols of their strength.

Trading victories for pain.

The past was a present that is now overstood.

Optimistic futures spiral into control and empty pens draw blanks.

Gentle withdrawals from multiple broken banks slows the flow to a trickle inside the vein.

Dirty needles and rusty pipes pump him up!

Enough to get back into the game!

Torn passports expire on shaking planes with metal elevators.

The sphinx rides pyramids of acrobatic alligators into denial while Indiana Joneses for some more.

Eyes roll back.

In the ally there’s wall-art and purple giraffes, smoking cigarettes.

Four decades of this crap and he’s almost a little bit past halfway there.

The farts of god blow golden sands into the pupils of the teachers of the future.

Lessons come and lessons go, but the elephant never forgets.

A sickness comes over the nurses who doctor themselves in the darkness of corner shelves.

The fever rings in their heads like the devil’s church bells.

Headless horseman ride bareback through the shadowy towns of undead.

Dragging skeletons out of closets.

Broken doors, open the way.

Without depth we bury bodies of information.

Bare hands work diligently in the shifting sands of beach graveyards.

There’s a message in every bottle.

The scum of the earth oozes out of every shit hole, hole in this place.

A toilet tissue to the face of the shit-stained man.

Man in the corner, have you no shame?

What we fear, runs towards us.

Filling the void, we enter the existence of unfiltered pain.

Splitting perfectly balanced carbon atoms.

“-1 Second Left. Nothing’s Right”

J.Rozarie

1-1-20