Count On

Tailor-made, pastel stitches embroided and cut to fit the body of a breathing mannequin.
Plastic-wrapped and plastered, golden souls with rubber soles; we are hungry, solely because what we know is nothing known, but how is there knowledge if what is what is is, yet still unknown?
Count on your money to count on you. Fill the tank with more, and more, and more, until you're running out of Nothing.
Count on numbers until it is not enough.
Time Infinity and Forever by the minute, save each second, every one for a hundred.
Count on Hope to drown your boat, then count your blessing once you're soaked.
Count until what you amount to is a NO! then eyes-your-close and Li(t)e your soul.
Count! God, bless me with a Benz, Gucci lenses, Armani sweats, expensive friends and dead enemies, for I blindly submit to a tough tit, lose the slits and accrue no guilt.
Do the Will. Choose the Will. Not Him, but I, to prove it is "real"!
Enemy of my inner me's enemy, your Guerilla monkey troop does not kill.
You call your opinion fact, call your weakness strength, fall for a bigger plan of earthly death, but man is ignorant with Godly knowledge.

Who is the All-Seeing when your mirror miraged Its function?