painting rancor

I'm sick of color, stolen grays into another view, each horizon burnt and bleeding into the kaleidoscope iris of every liar, fraudulent cheeks of slithering snakes and venomous milk cartons, bowls of split oranges and toxic religions, lavender licorice and lackadaisical leopards, red and yellow candy wrappers, most of you suck nothing but giant purple dick. Black and blue gums, icy throats swallowing your fathers, your friends and co-workers when your husbands aren't around, bashful tyranny, blushing brittle bellied brides and embittered fingers battered by the morning bombs exploding all over this robotic blog, my balls on your chin.

I want to paint all of you, your mixtures and significant others, your cindering scape's of bright-white golden sun-showers and contaminated cathedrals, heart-stems skyward, I want mine to break the ceiling, rubbed raw and lemony trails splattered with safari sway-petals, this elephant trunk hard as jail bars and enough for all of you, your abrupt faces dripping with loveless delight, your vicious pointing and hypocritical gestures from afar, glued african violets blooming like praying flowerbeds after a tornadic rain spike, bullet holes, my sadness smothering you with my sticky animus, filling your open holes, my sweet nectar and veiled ribbons of swan-like rain sang.