pee in your pants

peel the surface, find the core hide a rotten stinky toe! cover a skin with more fine satin, a mirror reflects only near perfection. denounce a god, make an idol call it what you will, you're the boss when the workers all line up to submit, a skin they must obey when money tugs. become the idol, a lover of shadows when chasing light was never more fun with the heavy shell begins to dawn, fizzles away to night's dark embrace. a troubling messenger that slices at the tip, retract that speech before the swindle is out for the solid shape begins to form on air whose unsettling mind is always wishy washy. puff away - the good old days when reflection begins to twist and turn like a dancer who has learned to move with the sparkles whose face is neither devil nor angel. merges into one crisp facet: but the leggings are showing when a storm brews like this morning's coffee sending a spin of tales from corners of the heart, untouched by chains left on the outside. it's troubling, it's damning, it's a fine thing when a mirror reflects back a smiling face whose lips are pursed, mind made up that all is well. the check book does not lie, does it? then the mirror breaks, thereupon seven years of bad luck coming to pass - but a wave of a wand, whose appearance is startling when magician and devil go back into the box. they like to play hide and seek, finding treasures from within, in exchange of what is left out - those fine satin, all ruined with a splash of wine it is one of those days. bad days. never mind the stutter, never mind the worn out reflection sparkling in many bits of shattered. the inside is out, the spell has been demolished with satin becoming chains - that nourish this old stinky toe gone black and so gigantic it is a wonder the surface never broke.