a feat one should not attempt
when in such a lucid state of being
Fearing the fiends finding me in my darkest of moments
shrouded in darkness to stave off the lurid pigs of a dichotomy so foul
it would make Hitler spit in disgust
Reading pages and pages of doctrine dictated louder
than the cries of ten thousand wretched putrid souls
swimming in the shit pools poured for their decay
No, instead, writing in cryptic linguistic madness
No pens no ink no pencils or shriveled historic parcels of charcoal
just cold hard plastic
or in this case of befouled tragic design flaws
broiling hot nearly melting keys and custom molded fiberglass
burning beneath my bony fingertips
Points? We have none
We thirst for blood
but hide behind our own shadows in the face of fear
We have wants and lusts for flesh and congress
yet we boil in our own skin and some call it sin
Be sorry for your thoughts you twisted malcontent
Soil yourself while you weep and masturbate
In memory of the life you wish you had
life is like sitting at a table dressed with fine china
and platinum silverware
where you can smell the food but never taste
unless you change your name and skin color
dishonor your brother
and become a whore for the machine.
Inspired by Hunter S. Thompson and thanks to a friend for introducing me to his work.
No comments:
Post a Comment