Like quite alike
Two peas in a pot
Are alike as two shades of the same colour
But not alike like black and white full-stops
It represents two spectrums not alike, so not like the other
Okay right, light with diverging frequencies
Emitting silhouettes that cast phantoms quite not alike
Hades attends to the deathless celestial beings
Without cup-holders, they seek to find a terrestrial theme
Like Casper dreaming of a tangible profile that slams upon a closed door
It’s basically surreal to attempt to part the seas of two poles apart
Like Moses with Wisdom’s staff parting the red-sea to set his people free
Pun is a double barrelled shot-gun
So fun like nicotine chimneys blowing circles out-the-mouth
While the neighbourhood’s carbon canvass shows a bystander its
dragon brandings
I heard that, he died unexpectedly when he woke-up the next day to see a dragon eyeing him back
So lovely, I guess it’s a cardiac arrest moment taking the saved to the realm of divinity
I’m livered, at 15min tickers who glace back 5min’s later like your very first Christmas gift
Of course flocks are for those with plucked feathers
That move together for security measures
I alienate xenophobia like the letter Zed being cast out to the fringes
Pensive nimbus god-head reincarnating the dead to colour blackness with breath
And I grin once the tapestry stretches past the weave of serenity
I’m Adam with Eve attempting to get rid of the serpent’s stead of greed
With a black board that chalks up halos beyond eternity’s timeless ticker cord
I’m sure things seem quite absurd like drunken swine’s speaking of bettered poise
It’s shocking like floating in a void with a fate checker expiry date for droids
Please stop stressing its mad depression like Prozac sun chasers
That conned Apollo into believing that a sunset was for quitters
I’m on my way to putting down a progressive legacy
Armed with a pencil and a canvas that walks the aisle of conception’s
recipe
Holy molly, its holy matrimony for the jolly duo ever hungrier for virtue’s dream
But I two-step along like a orphan searching for a home to rest a frozen cardiovascular
Live minutes like there was no ending
And be a tool cruising in the sharpness of being used
It’s my song and dance which is oddly skewed
So I soak the drool with a danger-alert to those bemused
I’m not ill, because I not a ICU patient on life-support feeling sick
So this sword is lightheaded with a red beacon just to bring a burgundy thrill
It’s the Monsoon season of spoken signals in-line with prose’s bringing hydrokinetic downpour
To leave this parched space with a blessed watery grace
I’m a wingman with Icarus wings of press-stick
Which is why, I stay glued to blow my brass horn like street critters snorting glue for a fix
I reside in a colourless utopia to bake indifference in division based on ignorance
My lion is sagged not for a matter of being rebellious
Just a metaphor for my hand-stand against fairness morally skewed stance of equipoise
**So you may all stay girdled to the waist line, its fine**
Tier girdled to sailing the doom-lands, blue-blood lords look on saying it’s hilarious: 
The tar-mach residents live with rickets in their spinal-cords because yet again tonight they will have no blankets
**the alley ways are for the brave, are you ready**
And it shows that no one is interested; let the cockroaches fend for their own living
I’m a helium blowtorch in the sky
That aligns nebulas to the cosmos’s version of mitosis
Call me Osmosis Jones in this dark-hole invoking a portion
I hope this elixir is the next miracle find like death being an antidote for suicidal kids
A breath is a bag of lemons that can be made into quenching lemonade
Just peel and mix the fruits, and bottom down a bettered levitated mental state
And be a surfer surfing in the barrel of the biggest tsunami wave

By: Phantom Gargoyle