State Of Global Orange

I've skeleton satisfaction in being merely shadow
and my only fear is failure to fade like paper thin.
I laff at state of global orange. This world peeling
off. I'm a tracing paper transfer, emptiness is my
tattoo. I'm the third with only two selected, my
desire to be dejected. I'm heckled by the have nots
for having less than them. They think my prayer in charge
of the gift giving amen. What then? I hang myself on a

Coat hanger of hanging about. I don't deliver encoragement
in my coaching shout. I leave a trail of listeners in
suicides all about. Now I am happy, now I am disappointing
you all. I have been marked down, thru execution. A strait 'F'
my elocution. You find me smiling tears. And I who have been
in nitemare all these years, I am now sleeping thru to a quarter to 2
in the morning. Each gram of reaper's day is yawning those
sleepy eyes awake. Its down to the one, Yellowstone earthquake

As due as a surprise. Now I tell truth and pretend they're lies
to help you to believe them. These are the stitches you never see
that hold up the hem. Otherwise I fall apart while someone
calls it Art. I part from the act of breathing. A blank book
I'm bequeathing, as lonely as a Slave Coast internet on a
silicon pile. My smile is a Marathon's mile. Grimace at the
giggle of it. I'm calm at others having fit over even the half
of it. I'm in constant isolation with my torturers as company.
Its a limited one. One the authorities never see.